


Story of the Century

by WhiteLadyDragon



Series: The Story of L, Kira and the Death Note [1]
Category: Death Note
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous Relationships, Angst and Humor, Drama, Explicit Language, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, Het, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Dilemmas, Supernatural Elements, Tragedy, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 29
Words: 238,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteLadyDragon/pseuds/WhiteLadyDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An amateur journalist's search for a story to finally legitimize her leads her tumbling into the heart of a monstrous war of minds upon seeing things she shouldn't have, starting with a strange photo and an even stranger young man.</p><p>Disclaimer! All fictional entities featured/ mentioned in this segment belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata; except Erin Blogger and a few extra characters not from the canon cast, who I made up for the purpose of this fan fiction. Any other unfamiliar names may be either other original characters or allusions to real-life people, as distinguished by the trademark abbreviation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crackpot

They always warned me that something like this would happen. Dad liked to pull me aside and tell me, "Now, honey, a lively imagination is a beautiful thing—"

Mom would pop up and add, "—but a rambunctious one will land you in prison."

"Or the nutbarn, whichever comes first," my brother Farley would sometimes chime in.

Me, rambunctious? Pshaw! In my defense, all I ever did was find something to talk about, then talk about it like it was. It wasn't like I picked these things up out of thin air.

…Though the part about having a lively imagination, I could agree with, for sure.

But now I started to wonder if they were right, about everything else. Had I cracked? In my search for the one story that would finally get people to start taking me seriously, had I lost it?

I sure picked a fine place and time to lose it: in the middle of a foreign country, thousands of miles away, nautical or otherwise, right when I was just starting college as an exchange student. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if I'd done it at home, where all my friends and family were. Here…it sucked. It plain sucked the big one. For once, what more could I say about it? I couldn't, especially with the language barrier between me and the kids at To-Oh, the school I attended.

The instant I barged into the office, I headed straight for the desk and slammed my hand down. "I need to speak to the editor of the school paper, A-SAP!" I didn't exactly have the credentials for a bigger news printing group—yet, but I figured that I ought to start somewhere. Stephen King started out writing for a school paper…in his native country.

The girl at the desk, who had been typing something at her computer, stopped in mid-type, her fingers hovering over the buttons as she looked up to give me this funny look, like I had moose antlers spouting from my head or something. For a minute, I was too caught up to figure out why.

After a pause, I found my palm smashed up against my face, a grunt squeezing out of my throat. The Japanese press must not have worked the same way as the American press. I couldn't just storm in yelling, "Stop the presses!" when I wanted the presses to stop, the way I was used to.

I yanked the brim of my hat over my eyes with one hand. The other gestured the girl to give me a minute while I stumbled out the office door. Seconds later, I slunk back in, trying as best as I could to approach the desk like a normal person. My legs and feet twitched and tingled viciously, like I was walking across a bed of hot coals.

As soon as I was a safe distance from the desk, I did a bow, making sure to do it at my waistline. While I was down there, I tried to remember what the word for "Sorry" was, and then tried to say so when I pulled back up. It came out like a coil of garble in my ears, probably because I was repeating it two or three times, for good measure. With that out of the way, I slid up a little closer to the desk, pushing my hat up out of my face.

"Listen, can I see the editor of the school paper? It's—it's kind of urgent. Really urgent, actually." The twitching in my limbs had shot up into my voice box, while my cheeks burned as red as stoplights.

The girl said something in her quick native tongue, that funny look stuck on her face. She must not have understood me. I hung my head as I fished in my bag for that damn dictionary. Squinting at the small print, I frantically scanned for the right words to convert my request into Japanese, sensing the girl's eyes on me the whole time. The phrases with one or two words were decent enough, but anything else beyond that was a strict pain in the ass.

I might've stood there all day hunched over if someone hadn't popped out from around the corner. "You need help?" he asked me in wobbly English, but in English, nevertheless.

Phew! I quick closed the dictionary and drew my hand out of my bag. "Yes, sir! I need to see the editor of the school paper. Is he in?" I blurted, forcing a grin to mask my sheepishness.

He smiled at me. "This is him: Inoue Hayate."

I took off my hat and bowed, the base of my spine moaning in discomfort from all the bowing I'd been doing all day, never mind since I'd touched down in Japan. Courtesy is pain, what more can I say?

"Erin Blogger…er, Blogger Erin," I said with a tight-lipped titter, still not entirely sure how I was supposed to introduce myself. "I'm not exactly with you guys, before you ask, but I-I've got something I think you'll want to look at, in regards to the paper." My voice started to quake again as I dug into the seams of my bag for my folder. I opened it up with trembling hands to pull out the picture.

I gave him a fair warning before handing it to him: "Don't bother sitting down, because you'd just stand right back up."

Hayate stared silently at it for what felt like hours, cocking his head to one side. The girl at the desk stood up to lean in for a look. Neither of them said a word, or if they had, I couldn't hear them over my pulse roaring in my ears.

Finally, Hayate said, "Nice shot of the sky. But what's this have to do with To-Oh? Was this taken on campus?"

Huh? 

The grip on my hat tightened. "Well, uh, no, not exactly, but I—I'm not talking about the sky! I mean the thing in the sky!"

Hayate placed a thoughtful finger against his cheek. "The clouds? They look nice, too, a bit crooked, though. Your angle looks hasty."

His peer whispered something into Hayate's ear, and he nodded. He turned back to me and said, "You can see Himura-sensei at the Art Department, maybe? He'll help you hone your skills. I'm sorry, but this otherwise isn't news-worthy."

What the hell, were these two screwing with me, or what? I was practically sputtering. "But—but—the thing in the sky! What about the big, ugly thing in the sky? Isn't that news-worthy?"

"…What thing…?"

I almost choked. "L-let me see that!"

Now they were both looking at me like I had moose antlers as I ripped it out of his hand. I jabbed a finger at the silhouetted skeletal monster in the corner, dangling in mid-air like a hideous marionette on invisible strings as its tattered bat-wings eclipsed the sunlight.

"This thing! This thing, right here, clear as spit! Sort of. C-can't you see it?"

Hayate muttered something to the girl at the desk, and she said something that sounded like, "Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." For a far-too-short second I felt an inkling of hope…until I remembered that over here, "Yeah" or whatever actually meant "No." She reminded me of this when she shook her head.

"What's wrong with you guys?"

Forget antlers; I might as well have gotten donkey ears with the new look they gave me. Hayate only had this to say: "What's wrong with you?" I think the girl said something about a nurse, but I didn't have it in me to figure that out for sure.

I wasn't getting anywhere with these guys. More pairs of eyes appeared from all around me to see what the commotion was about, backing me into the figurative corner. Suddenly, it felt like somebody had jacked up the thermostat five or six degrees.

Damn it! It looked like I was going to have to bail, again.

Crushing the picture in my fist, I gritted my teeth and snarled, "Ugh, you know what? Forget it. Just…forget I ever came in here, go back to your business. Adios!" Humiliated and pissed beyond belief, I slapped my hat back over my head and stormed out before they could say anything else.

Only when I was outside did I realize that "adios" wasn't even Japanese.

All right, so maybe that little outburst didn't help to boost my credibility. On the contrary, I probably could never show my face in that office again. I'd only been here for a few weeks, and I was already getting in trouble: something my folks had made me promise up and down not to do.

But it wasn't all my fault! How could those guys not see that…that thing? It was right there! Were they screwing with me, because I was a new kid? I squeezed my eyes shut and saw the two of them behind my eyelids, snickering to each other in their native tongues, "Oh, that American asshole, we sure showed her what for."

The more I thought about it, the more the arteries in each side of my brain throbbed, threatening to take out both sides of my head with them. I felt like passing out, so I propped myself up against the wall to simmer down.

I unraveled the picture in front of me. Huh! Not news-worthy, my ass. At the very least, I should've gotten a twitch or a gasp or a white face, something subtle, anything at all! How could I not? I know that's how I reacted when I saw it. I could only come up with three possible explanations: 1) Japanese people were really good at playing cool; 2) they saw big, ugly monsters flying around all the time; or 3)…

…they honestly didn't see it.

No, that couldn't be. I saw it, and I was clean and sober, I swear I was. And if it really was just a hallucination, a trick of the light, then why would it show up on a photograph?

I reached up to tug on the brim of my hat. My fingers traced the well-loved fabric, looking for the luck this Fedora had graced me with over the years. Unless I'd finally worn that out, too…?

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted two girls passing my way. I recognized them as girls from my dorm: Yuki and…Kyoko, yeah, that's it, Yuki and Kyoko. Their English wasn't spot-on, either, but it was good enough to strike up a conversation.

I looked back to the wrinkled photo in my hands. Maybe I could get a second opinion, a third, if possible? I didn't think either of them was into journalism, but I had to admit, at that point, I was starting to get desperate. Surely they could see the thing?

So what I did was, I stood up and wiped the tension out of my face. Then I headed towards Yuki and Kyoko and fell in step alongside them, hiding the photo behind my back as I laughed with them.

It didn't take them too long to notice me. When they did, they stopped to look me over, neither looking too happy to see me. "You're rude to cut in, you know," said Yuki.

"Who, me? Oh, tch, I'm not cutting in," I said, innocent as I could possibly act. "I just think, uh…whatever it is you were just talking about is funny, is all."

Kyoko raised an eyebrow. "You saw Arata blow up in Chemistry, too?"

"No, she's not in that class."

I got tight-lipped for a minute as I fiddled with the brim of my hat. "Well, you guys are laughing about it, so it must have some chuckle value. Hey, you know what else is worth talking about?"

Before either of them could answer, I scooted behind a cherry tree shedding its bright pink blossoms. Shifting my eyes back and forth, I beckoned for them to join me. For a moment there, it looked like they weren't going to bite, but they did in the end. Kyoko looked genuinely intrigued; Yuki must've only went along because they were friends and all.

As soon as all three of us were under the discretion of the shade, I held onto Yuki's shoulder, earning me a cringe from her. I warned them both, "Brace yourselves: what you are about to see may leave you questioning everything you've ever believed in." I know I am…

I let go of her shoulder. With a flick of my wrist, I held out the photo for the two of them to see. Like Hayate and the girl at the desk, they were silent, though not for quite as long.

Yuki spoke up first: "What's questioning about the sky?" She was glaring at me, like she'd been expecting something juicy the whole time. "It's over our heads every day."

Jesus Christ, you've gotta be—

It was the office all over again. "No, no, f-forget the sky! What about the thing in the sky?"

Kyoko adjusted her glasses and leaned in for a closer look, particularly at the corner. "This cloud looks a little like Ryuga," she murmured, her cheeks flushing with almost the same shade of pink as the cascading blossoms.

Meanwhile, the blood in my own cheeks burned them from the inside-out like acid. "Fuck Ryuga! Fuck the clouds! Come on, don't tell me you don't see it, either! If it were the real deal, it would've ripped your faces off by now!" I squinted at them as I tried to remember the words for "monster" and "right there;" maybe they'd listen, then?

Kyoko recoiled, a hand over her mouth. Yuki folded her arms across her chest as she pieced together the garble tumbling out of my mouth. "'Monster?' Hmph, what a joke, not even a joke. If you'd have altered this picture a little, maybe it'd be remotely funny. Let's go, Kyoko."

They abandoned me under the tree, but not without Kyoko turning her head to glare forks and knives in my direction. All I could do was stand there with my jaw unhinged, no doubt looking every bit as stupid as I felt. I slumped up against the tree, taking off my hat to rub circles into my temples.

Not them, too! Either something's wrong with them, or something's wrong with me…and it's sure not me. Can't be. The entire student body can't all have the same thing wrong with them, can they? They can't ALL be out to screw with me. 

I held the damn picture over my head like a shield from the bleaching sunlight leaking through the branches. If I could be sure of any brain-screwing, it would have to be from the monster itself, deeming me unworthy to even look in the eye as it silently mocked me from the safety of the grainy skyscape.

Who're you trying to kid? Even at home, you were a crackpot. What made you think it'd be any different over here…or better, for that matter? 

Going to Japan wasn't really my idea, to be honest; it was my folks'. I went with it because it'd sounded like an adventure. They saw high-quality education and practicality, "something that can't possibly hurt you to try, Erin." I saw a huge neon sign promising a gold-mine of stories in blinking white and red. I would see things my friends hadn't seen, do things they hadn't done, find things they hadn't found. And at the end of it all, I'd return home with stories about those things to pass on. That is—was—the thrill behind journalism. I thrived for that thrill.

But now here I was, wondering if I'd snapped. I'd taken a couple "monster photos" in the past, only to have it turn out to be a float or a fly on the lens or some other PS (pigeon shit; where I came from, there was a lot of that, and not just on the sidewalk and the statues in Central Park). I finally had a genuine monster photo in my hands, and no one else could even see it, sohelpme, why couldn't they see it?

And I had to face it: if I kept trying to push it, they'd probably want to screen me to see if I was strung out or something. Maybe they'd give me the boot while they were at it?

That sulfuric sensation returned to my cheeks as I mashed the picture into a ball. This isn't worth the paper it's printed on, I thought bitterly as I chucked it in a random direction, not even caring to toss it into a trash can. Hell, I didn't care where it landed, or who'd find it next, if anyone found it. Unless they had a thing for cruddy sky pictures, it was PS.

Pure PS. Strictly PS…

The burning shot up into my eyes. I was rubbing them out of their sockets long after the picture had left my fingers.

…

What else was a girl in my situation to do about it except eat out her sorrows before anything else? Oh yeah, To-Oh had a cafeteria and everything, but there also happened to be a coffee shop nearby. I couldn't seem to find the confidence to show my face around campus for the moment, so I headed up to the shop instead, just to get away for a while.

I made sure to get a table way in the corner where nobody came around. While I scanned the menu in one hand, I thumbed through my dictionary with the other under the table. I still wondered if I'd snapped, and if I had, should I blame my parents just for shipping me over here? A soft, shaky laugh escaped my lips, one without any real humor. I only laughed because it felt better than…you know. Besides, it wasn't really their fault. They didn't know about the monsters and robots and human-animal hybrids and talking sushi rolls running amok.

…Oh, and supernatural serial killers, too, but that'd all be in good time.

Still, if they wanted to dull me out, they probably should've sent me to someplace like England. At least over there, English was their official language. Funny how you don't think about the alternatives until it's too late to even consider them.

My gaze on the menu lingered on a tiny picture of a dish that looked like a sundae, topped with strawberries and chips and stuff. It looked pretty good; the perfect comfort food, to hell with the calories. As I tried looking up the name in the dictionary, I thought I could sense a presence next to me. Thinking it was the waiter, I turned and tipped my hat out of my face.

The first thing I had to say to him was "Yo!"

It wasn't the waiter. Actually, I didn't even see a person: just eyes, the hugest pair of eyes I'd ever seen, bulging behind a ragged curtain of thick, ink-black hair. Mere inches from the tip of my nose, they stared with a kind of drilling soullessness that could make an owl look tame.

I almost had an aneurysm; as if I wasn't already at the end of my nerves. What I did instead, though, was jar the cup of cream with my elbow on the recoil. The sloshing of milk, combined with a chilly wetness that pasted the fabric of my sleeve to the skin of my arm, ripped my focus away from the eyes for a moment, though I couldn't decide which was worse.

Another unintelligible yelp popped out of my throat as soon as I'd noticed the puddle of cream dripping over the edge of the table. In all my spazz-ness, I'd dropped my dictionary on the floor, so while one hand dove for a fistful of napkins, the other dragged me under the table to fish for my book…or what remained of it. The mess left a giant, soggy sinkhole in the middle of my book, blotting out just about all the text in almost half of the page count.

If I wasn't so busy mopping up the mess, I might've gone and turned both of those eyes black, if you know what I mean. "Aw, man, look what you made me do!" I didn't bother to even try to say it in Japanese; with my dictionary done for, how could I?

To my surprise, whoever owned those eyes replied flatly, "I didn't make you do anything. You jarred the cream entirely on your own accord." What made it surprising was that he'd said it in perfect English, no accent or anything. Was he an exchange student, too? Had to be: I had had yet to meet anyone who did…what he did.

I snatched up a couple fresh napkins to squeeze the cream out of my sleeve, like squeezing a wound. "I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't sc—oh, what's the big idea, anyhow, sneaking up on me like that?"

I got to take in more of the guy behind the eyes when I turned to glare at him. He was pale, lanky, kind of sickly-looking, and hunched over, like a question mark. His eyes couldn't get any blacker even with my "help;" layers of dark insomnia rings lined his eyelids like a raccoon's mask. His dilated pupils devoured almost every part of each eye until they were more like two holes in his head, like he'd spent pretty much his whole life in a cave or something.

He had his hands buried in his pockets, quietly rustling as he started pulling something out of there. He held out at arm's length a tiny, wrinkled sheet of paper folded over several times, pinched between his pointer finger and thumb like it was a piece of used toilet paper.

"You dropped this," he muttered. He was a soft-spoken kind of guy.

Furrowing my eyebrows, I balled up the soggy napkins and set them aside. Then I snatched the paper from him and started to unfold it. Sure enough, that goddamn picture greeted me underneath the folds, the last thing I wanted to see.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I might've, I might not have. Either way, you can have it. It's trash." I started to hand it back, but he wouldn't take it.

"So you did throw this away."

"No, I said I might or might not have dropped it. Big difference."

"But you acknowledged this picture as 'trash.' Obviously, you wouldn't have lost track of it so carelessly if you regarded it as something valuable. For that matter, you wouldn't have made this judgment so quickly unless you were the previous owner, therefore already having a clear concept of what it is. Might I add, the least you could've done was make an effort to place it in a proper receptacle."

Was this guy joking? I couldn't tell from the look on his face. In fact, it was about impossible to tell what he was thinking, if he was thinking. His affect was flatter than stale soda.

I made a face. I couldn't say I was too fond of the idea of such a weird guy tailing me, especially over something so stupid. "Wait. You're telling me that you followed me all the way over here, over some litter? Hey, if it bothered you so much, why didn't you take care of it yourself?"

"Because everyone is responsible for their own litter. They must be held accountable for its disposal," he said, as blank-faced as can be. Was he for real? He sure was a funny character, in a screwy kind of way.

"Who are you, the Litter Law Enforcement?" I snorted.

"Not exactly. I'm Hideki Ryuga."

Hideki Ryuga…why did that name sound familiar? Oh, wait…

"You mean, Ryuga, from To-Oh?"

"Yes."

I could remember now: Ryuga was supposed to be one of the top dogs at To-Oh, one of the only two kids who allegedly scored perfect on the entrance exam that year, and also, the crappiest dresser. He stuck out like a scarecrow in a department of mannequins, with his clothes dangling off him at odd angles like they were way too big for him. As a matter of fact, he was wearing the same wrinkly white shirt and faded baggy jeans that he'd worn to the opening ceremony. And the day after that, and the day after that, and the…ahem. Up until this point, I'd only gotten passing glances of him around campus, but he always wore that same outfit, every time. I wasn't a fashion freak or anything, but it is kind of hard not to notice when someone comes to your school every day wearing the same thing.

Either his family was barely scraping by financially, or he got off on messing with people's expectations. Maybe he was just that lazy. The smart kids tended to get a little complacent in all the schools I'd gone to. Ryuga sure was an extreme example of that.

I was originally going to tell him to get lost, but as soon as my memory clicked, I caught myself, which was a rare instance. Even with his place as a top student, he was sort of an anonymity, as far as I knew. The picture had been a flop, but maybe, just maybe, I could make up for it with an interview, an exclusive interview, with Ryuga? What more did I have to lose?

So I worked up a smile. "You know what? I'm sorry. You're right. I should've taken better care of my trash. Thanks, pal! Thanks for setting me straight! In fact, I think I'm going to go drop it off right now." I stood up to gather the ball of napkins and my destroyed dictionary. Boy, did I feel dumb saying that, but if I was going to talk to him, I had to butter him up a little. If he could be buttered up, that is.

Suddenly remembering my manners—or lack thereof—I threw in, "Oh, hey, by the way, name's Erin Blogger. Or, uh, Blogger Erin?" I liked "Erin Blogger" better; "Blogger Erin" sounded too weird for me. But then what? Was I supposed to bow, or offer a handshake? Oh, hell, why not do both? All I was doing was being polite. With all the trash gathered in one arm, I bowed as deeply as I could without dropping everything on the floor, then held out my free hand.

Ryuga stared down at my hand like it had the nastiest case of gangrene or something. He had a way of making the most ordinary things extraordinarily uncomfortable.

So I tried picking at the ice some more: "What's the matter? Not up to shaking hands with a litterbug? That's understandable…I guess."

I was going to draw back when Ryuga finally extended his free hand for me to take. His grip was kind of limp, but it didn't feel much like the kind of limp you'd get from a wimp. No, it felt more like the kind of limp you'd get from a guy that didn't really feel like touching somebody else, much less shaking their hand.

When we broke the handshake, I saw him take out a handkerchief to wipe his hands clean. Germophobic, aren't we, I thought, trying to keep the smile on my face. Or just really snobby…

He kept his eyes on me the whole time he was wiping off his hands, as if he wasn't doing it. "It's too bad. The angle is crooked, but otherwise, that's a rather nice photograph of the sky you have there."

Now I had the picture in my other hand, held up to my face. Yeah? Only problem is, it wasn't supposed to be just a stupid picture of the sky. "I'm a lot better with the camera than that, you know. It only looks crooked 'cause I was in a hurry to take it…"

Ryuga slipped his handkerchief back in his pocket in one hand, while the other reached up to hook the tip of his finger in the corner of his mouth. Apparently, he didn't like shaking hands, but he had no problem with sticking his fingers in his mouth. "Is that so? Why the rush? Is the sky not over our heads every day?" Wasn't I supposed to be the one asking questions?

I felt like slumping down, almost to Ryuga's level. "Ppht, that figures. You couldn't see it, either, then…"

"Hm? I couldn't see what?"

"Ah—nothing," I said, starting to look around the place for a trash can. "It's nothing: just a thing I saw the other day—or I thought I did. No big deal. How 'bout you?"

I found a trash can. The next time I turned my head, I found his ghostly face back in my own, his unruly bangs casting a shadowy frame around it. Even the second time around, I felt like jumping six feet out of my skin. Something about him reminded me of the thing, for a minute there.

"What kind of 'thing' was it?"

"I don't know. Some stupid ghost or monster or something," I choked, while I squeezed the napkins and such into the flap. The picture remained clenched in my other hand. "Look, it's—it's not worth talking about. It really isn't. You know how those kind of deals work out: you think you've seen something interesting, and the next thing you know, you've got your face all over the Rag Mag of Shame."

I couldn't tell you how much I hated stringing those five words together in a sentence like that: "it's not worth talking about." That was partly why I was choking. On the other hand, I could only go for so long talking about something no one else could see.

Somebody must've loved going around screwing with thermostats, because once again, I was prickling all over with heat. Hell, now that I was thinking about it, why did I bring the thing up again in the first place? What a thing to say to one of the smartest kids in school, especially when he was supposed to be unloading on me, not the other way around!

Ryuga got quiet for a moment or two, which didn't help anything, to say the least. So I quickly tried to change the subject: "Hey, tell you what, Ryuga, how 'bout you and me have some lunch while we're here? I'll buy." Ah, the sacrifices I made in the name of journalism.

Some sacrifices, however, as much as I hated to say so, were made in vain. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

Trying not to look too disappointed, I said, "Do you really have to? You can have anything you want."

"It's not that your offer sounds unappealing. I simply don't have the time, at this moment. Perhaps another time."

Translation: "Never in a million years, sister."

I knew it. I knew I shouldn't have brought up the goddamn thing to an interviewee. And if I tried making him stay, I'd only look desperate, making everything all the worse.

"Oh. That's cool, some other time, it is, then. Any time in particular?"

Ryuga was already on his way to the exit when I asked, the weird bastard. "Yes. Any time but now," was all he was going to say on that. Wiseguy.

Before he left, though, he paused to look back intently at me. "By the way, you shouldn't discredit something of your personal knowledge solely on the grounds of the inability to convince others to believe you. There's always a chance that you may be right, nevertheless: at least five percent."

With that, he left as abruptly as he'd shown up. With him gone, I was free to huff and scowl and kick myself all I wanted. Five percent, he said. I didn't have too much faith in a number that low. Five percent was a PS number.

Still, everything else that crackpot said, about not discrediting what I'd seen…I couldn't shake that off nearly as easily.


	2. Interview

Ryuga fell off the face of the earth, after that. No, seriously. For days afterward, he was nowhere to be found, no matter where I looked on campus. Now, To-Oh was a pretty big place, so maybe it was just a matter of missing him by an inch or two. But that didn't make me feel any better. I caught glimpses of him almost all the time before and thought nothing of it. Now that I actually started to care, he had to up and vanish. It was kind of ironic.

The guy owed me a dictionary, on top of that. Funny how you don't think about things until it's too late for it to matter.

After a couple of days, though, I started to wonder why I bothered. I probably wouldn't have gotten very far in an interview with him, anyhow; he was kind of shifty. And I couldn't imagine getting much out of a guy who didn't even like shaking hands. I kicked myself for a while for not getting anything to contact him with, like a phone number, but then I realized: he might not have given me anything even if I'd asked.

I never forgot what he'd told me, though. How could I? Ever since he'd said that, I never got around to throwing that picture away again. No, nothing had changed; I was still the only one who could see the thing. But for some reason, every time I felt like throwing it away, Ryuga's words buzzed in and out of my ears like gnats in the summertime that wouldn't go away no matter how much I swatted at them. I wound up tucking it away at the bottom of the deepest pocket in my bag where all the worthless crap went, where it couldn't bother me as I tried to stay cool and carry on.

Well, almost couldn't.

I don't know, even if people could see the thing, I doubted they would've cared that much, not in light of the current events. Monsters were yesterday's news, if they were ever considered news. Kira was the hot topic, the hottest topic in the nation, slowly inching its way to the rest of the world, as it would be for a long time coming.

"Kira," as it turned out, was the Japanese pronunciation of the English word "killer," so it didn't take somebody long to figure out what, or who, Kira was supposed to be about. But Kira was not just any killer. Kira was a faceless figure who had somehow found a way to kill people without even being there, usually by giving them a heart attack, like a psychic killer or something. As chilling as that sounds, Kira was allegedly only going after criminals, apparently because they wanted to "make the world a better place." It didn't matter if you were old or young, rich or poor, male or female: if you did wrong, and word got out that you did wrong, you were going to get it.

Sounds like something out of a rag mag, doesn't it? The only difference, though, was that Kira was real. With everybody talking about it, something had to be going on. As soon as I'd heard about it, I'd read up on the Kira business as much as I could (thank God for subtitles). I didn't want to fall too far behind the times, since it would become just about the only thing everyone wanted to talk about (if I didn't have the language barrier between me and everyone, that is). Plus, it gave me an opportunity to hone my Japanese.

But more importantly, it was the freaking story of the year. No, the decade. No…the goddamn century! Not sure of how closely my folks were keeping up with the story back in New York, I wondered if I could talk about it with them. Nah. If I showed so much as an inkling of interest in something like that, they'd probably freak out and try to take me back home right away, out of concern for either my safety, or my sanity. I'll admit, the whole thing did unnerve me a little; who wouldn't be shaken? But hey, that's probably what made the story all the greater.

The police had been battling with Kira over the media, and were trying to restrict it from broadcasting reports on criminals so that Kira couldn't hunt down any more crooks. As April passed into May, they sent messages to each other over those big screens they had on the buildings, each side asking the other to cooperate with them, or sohelpthem, heads were going to roll. Back and forth, like a never-ending televised tennis match, neither budging an inch.

Some people really did sympathize with Kira, since a lot of them were victims of crime to whom Kira gave closure, or relatives of victims. Those people even started talking about Kira over the Internet as some kind of divine judge, a god. I think a crazy copycat was starting to surface, even!

Why was it that they didn't believe in monsters, but they could easily accept some serial killer as a god? Just throwing that out there…

Others cheered on the police force. Killing was killing, they said, no matter how much you tried to justify it. Kira was a major threat to the constitution and all that.

Me? Honestly, I was with the members of the press. Look, it wasn't that I didn't care about justice or the fact that hundreds of people were dying every day, and like I said, the whole thing was pretty…you know. But I really admired the journalists and the reporters involved. They had the honor of telling the story of the century to the rest of us, one twist at a time (particularly when it pretty much became the only topic discussed on the news).

That came with a price, though. Naturally, everyone had opinions. But if they said even the littlest thing against Kira, they were done for by the end of the hour, by Kira himself or the crazy copycat. If they backed Kira up, they got a scarlet letter by the Anti-Kira group. They were caught in the middle and couldn't win, either way. I think I felt more for them than I did for Kira or the police.

…Anyhow, they had that. Meanwhile, I was scrambling around like a headless chicken, stuck to work with more minor things when I wasn't supposed to be studying, namely, the on-goings at school. And even that wasn't getting too far. Take the time I tried to talk to this girl, Kiyomi Takada, for instance. She was supposed to be a beauty queen, Miss To-Oh or something. I have to say, she was pretty good-looking, almost queenly. Long legs, silky black hair, great figure and elegant posture...

Problem was, her attitude was kind of queenly, too.

I stood around outside the classroom as cool as can be, waiting for her to step out as class dismissed. Word had been spreading around that she was dating the other top dog at To-Oh, Light Yagami, whom I hadn't gotten around to meeting yet, but was planning to. As soon as she stepped out, I waved at her.

I garbled out the word for "Hello." "Kiyomi! Kiyomi Takada!" I said with the brightest smile I could muster.

She gave me this funny look, the kind of glazed, half-lidded look you'd find on an elitist when a commoner addressed them. She said something in Japanese, which I assumed was a term of acknowledgement.

So I took off my hat, bowed, and offered a handshake. "Miss To-Oh! How are you?" I tried to ask her if she could speak any English.

She put her hand up to her lips like she was clearing her throat. "I can speak a little. There is no need for that name, thank you." The thing about Kiyomi was that as queenly as she acted, she also liked pretending she wasn't queenly. I could tell this from the slight proud flush in her cheeks. "Call me Takada."

I nodded. "Call me Blogger. You have any spare time? I'd like to interview you, if you don't mind."

I wasn't sure what Kiyomi thought about that. On the one hand, she looked like the type to like interviews. On the other, she looked kind of suspicious of me. Why was that not too surprising? "Are you with the paper?"

I got tight-lipped for a second there. Man, why hadn't I thought of that? Of course Her Highness would only want to talk to official journalists. I was a nobody, a foreign nobody, to boot.

So I tried to come up with something that sounded as best as I could come up with. "The school paper? Ah…I know them. Well, to tell you the truth, I'm more of a…freelancer. I write for a bunch of papers."

She didn't look convinced. In fact, I thought I could see her dainty nose turning up at me. "I'm not sure I trust you."

"Oh, I just wanna know what everyone else wants to know about you!" I shot back, my cheeks aching from the huge smile on my face, despite my efforts to keep it up. And then, just to butter her up, I told her, "Hey, has anyone ever told you you'd make a great spokeswoman? I mean it! You could tell people to convert, and I bet they'd do it. Have you always been a beauty, or did you have to work at it? How do you pull it off?"

That came out wrong, and by the time I realized that, it was too late. Heat pricked every pore in my face as Kiyomi narrowed her eyes at me. "I have manners, to start," she said. Then she murmured something in Japanese, with one word in particular that I hadn't gotten familiar with yet: "Bah-kah," I think it was pronounced.

Well, I didn't know what that meant, but I couldn't just stand there and not answer. So I put on my most pleasant face and said the only thing I could say when I didn't know what someone was talking about, but didn't want to admit it: "Right back at you, Takada."

An almost lethal silence fell across the hallway. I could feel eyes piercing the nape of my neck, while Takada's scornful gaze tried to shoot my head off.

"I suggest learning the language before walking into the country," she said, like she thought she did me a huge favor knowing some English and expected me to return the favor. "Or at least get a guide. Please excuse me." She started taking off, marching away like the queen she was…or at least, what she and everyone thought she was.

Hey, it's not like I'm not trying! What, was that word supposed to be a curse word or something? Because if it was…well, Kiyomi hadn't been too proper herself, huh?

"Kiyomi, uh, Takada, wait up!" I shouted after her. Over and over, I garbled out the Japanese version of "Sorry," but to no avail. I lost her. I'd never had her. At that point, I decided not to tackle Light Yagami for a while. For all I knew, Kiyomi would probably run to her boyfriend and tell him how I'd been so rude with her and everything and to "watch out or that dumb American will whack a million of those sweet brain cells off of you."

The instant she disappeared out the doors, I stopped chasing her, propping myself up against the frame to catch my breath. I pressed my forehead against the cold metal frame, my fingers fiddling around the brim of my hat in desperate search for a speck of luck, something I'd been starved of since that day in the city when I'd spotted the thing.

Wonder how far I'd have to swim from here to New York City? Maybe if I took a shortcut through the Panama Canal—

BAM! A loud clunk sent my train of thought tumbling off the tracks, and me to the floor. My face screamed in agony, like a huge dent had been left right down the middle of it. Lesson learned: if you're going to angst, don't do it in front of the entrance.

That girl Kyoko popped in and knelt down next to me. I had my hand over my face, but I could see her eyes wide with alarm behind the cracks in my fingers. "Ah, you okay? I'm so sorry!"

While she apologized up and down, Yuki poked her head in, staring down at me from the tip of her nose. "Oh, hey, Monster Girl," she muttered. "You all right? Any sense knocked into you?"

My nose felt like it'd swelled up to the size of a golf ball. I felt something warm and wet dribbling in my palm. When I took my hand away, I realized it was blood.

Blinking back the tears in my eyes—which, I assure you, were only there because I'd just got a door in the kisser—I chuckled, "Oh, sure. My nose's bleeding like a bastard, but other than that, I've never felt better." In fact, I managed to collect my bearings and get back up on my own, pinching my nose tight. The hallway did kind of rock a little under my feet, though. Also, I noticed how nasally I sounded, with my nose all messed up and all. I sounded kind of like my Aunt Bernice from Rhode Island.

With my free hand, I pulled my hat over my face and pushed the two aside so I could get the hell out the door. Kyoko stammered as she tried to ask if I needed help, but I just brushed her off. "I'm cool, I'm cool," I mumbled in wobbly Japanese.

"What do you mean, you're cold?" asked Yuki.

I didn't bother to clarify. The sooner I could find sanctuary, the better.

…

I looked everywhere in the café to see if anyone from To-Oh was there. I needed to lay low for a while, on account of what'd happened with Kiyomi; I wasn't in the mood for a confrontation with one of her fans. Not that I couldn't hold my own in a confrontation, mind you. I was just too busy nursing my nose, that's all. I'd managed to wait out the bleeding, but the cartilage continued to glow with pain, almost as brightly as that old reindeer's nose.

My hat stayed well over my eyes, and I was scrunched down in my seat like one of those hard-boiled guys in the trench coats from the movies, keeping a low profile in a smoky bar on the bad side of town. What? Sometimes I got the urge to mess around a little. It helped me to feel marginally better, so long as I was alone, of course.

Pulling on the lapels of my imaginary trench coat, I peered down into my rippled reflection in my glass of water. Under the lighting, I looked kind of tough in the glass, like the seasoned journalist I wanted so much to be…as much as I could do without any facial disfigurement.

No door in the face can stop old Erin Blogger, I thought as a wishful smile wove into my lips, because that wasn't totally true, deep down. I could fight tooth and nail to get the scoop out, but whenever I'd get jeered or sneered into the corner, I'd bail, lay low, maybe run to an eatery somewhere to curl in the corner and eat out my sorrows, like I was doing now. It looked pathetic, sounded pathetic, was pathetic, I know, but that was how I rolled. I mean, what else could a girl do when nobody believed her?

I fumbled around for the fork so I could start working on that slice of cake. Originally, I'd asked for one of those sundaes, but the waiter had screwed up my order. At the moment, I didn't feel like arguing with waiters, either, so I kept it.

I was feeling pretty funny, all of a sudden.

Right when I was about to take a sip, I thought I could see a new face in the reflection, perched on my shoulder. Well, no, actually, I couldn't say that it was a new face, but by the way it peered up at me with those huge, bulgy eyes, I didn't quite give a damn. I had to hold on to the edge of the table just to keep from falling off my chair!

Sure as hell, I looked up to find shifty old Ryuga behind me, in the same old shirt and jeans. He was seated—no, squatted backwards in his chair, his fingers laced around the frame as he gazed down at me with a blank, almost childish face. I had to wonder if this guy really was a college student; he sure didn't act like one.

Him again? Fuck Kira; this yahoo could give you a full-blown heart attack without even trying. 

"Ryuga? What's the matter, come back to egg me about some more litter?" I sputtered, not just because he'd sc—startled me in almost the exact same way as last time, but because he was just there at all. Really! I waste irretrievable time looking for him, then just when I start forgetting about it, he pops up again, like a freaking Jack-in-the-box. He'd have sure made a fine Jack-in-the-box…

"Nothing in particular is the matter," he told me. "I'm just wondering if you're going to eat that." He pointed a spidery finger at my cake. Well! How long had he been sitting there, anyhow?

Once I decided that I couldn't do anything about the way I sounded, I tipped my hat out of my face and said, "I was going to. Why, you want some? Hey, where've you been, anyhow? I haven't seen you around campus, lately."

"Were you looking for me?" he asked me while he nibbled on the tip of his thumbnail, like a little kid. You wouldn't know whether to call him "pal" or "kiddo." He didn't fit any label, really. I can't really explain why; he just didn't.

"Well, uh, no, of course not, not extensively, no," I said, as gravel filled up my stomach when I realized how bad that must've sounded. "I just hadn't seen you around in a while, so I was wondering where the heck you were. That's all. No big deal."

"I told you, we'd meet again another time."

My eyes widened. Oh wow, I remembered him saying that last time, but I hadn't at all counted on him to mean it. Though the least he could've done was give me a heads-up. Any normal guy would've done that. But then, maybe that's why he didn't?

He wasn't going to tell me where he'd been. Maybe he had a job on the side? Seemed likely. The way he dressed, I'd have thought he was poor and had to take up odd jobs to support his education, combined with the fact that he was seen around school fairly infrequently. I couldn't imagine what kind of job somebody like him would have, though…except maybe as the poster boy for those corny pro-health ads. He'd scare people into getting fit and cleaning up by showing them, blue and true to life, what they would look like if they didn't.

I grinned, half out of excitement, half out of bewilderment. You were never quite sure how to act with him. "Oh, I see. You go by your own terms, huh? Right on, Ryuga!" I cheered with a fist dubiously cocked in the air. With my other hand, I drummed on the surface of the table. Cake with Ryuga Hideki: how was that for a headliner? Nah, good headliners needed some alliteration. Let's see: "Cream Cake with College Cream of the Crop."

…I decided to think up of a better headliner later. When you're someone in my position and see an opportunity for a story, you've got to jump on it, right away. Or it may never come back again. What happened with old Ryuga was dumb luck in the mightiest meaning of the term; no way could I take this for granted.

"Well, since you're here, why not come sit! Cake's on me!" I realize how backwards that must sound, a girl picking up the tab for a guy and all, when it was usually, supposed to be, the other way around. Or at least, you should go Dutch. But I was buttering him up so he'd talk to me. After all, it didn't look like he could afford the cake.

Besides, when you're in the same breathing space with guys like Ryuga, you tend to go a little backwards yourself. Trust me, if I knew exactly why that happens, I would elaborate.

He didn't move, right away. Only after I called the waiter back in erratic Japanese for a second piece of cake did he get up. He told the waiter something in the smoothest, clearest Japanese I'd ever heard.

As I watched the waiter nod and leave, I asked Ryuga, "What's wrong? What'd you tell him?"

"I told him that you meant to ask for a second slice of cake."

"…What'd you do that for? I already—"

"Perhaps that was your intention, but that's not what you told him."

I managed a shrug. "It's this nose," I insisted, unable to maintain much eye contact with Ryuga. "It makes me sound honky. He must not have heard me right."

"Actually, I distinctly heard you ask for a sundae. A strawberry sundae. You aren't terribly fluent in Japanese, are you?"

My lips were so dry I felt like they would crumble to dust. I could feel Ryuga's huge eyes boring into one side of my head and out the other.

I sunk down deeper into my chair, feeling a little flushed with fever, all of a sudden. "Tch, maybe it isn't spot-on, but it's almost there. I wouldn't have come over to Japan if I couldn't even speak the language," I said as I took off my hat and stuffed it into my bag. "I mean, heh, what kind of jerk would do that?"

Ryuga didn't move into the chair across from me until the waiter dropped off the cake. His tattered grey sneakers slapped almost silently across the floor as he shuffled his way over, hands in his pockets and question-mark hunch in his back. He did one of the strangest things as he took his seat: he slipped off his shoes and set them neatly under the table, exposing his bare, wiggling, sock-less feet.

"I didn't know you could go barefoot in here," I said.

"Personally, I find footwear to be rather irritating," said Ryuga. "I would go completely without it if it weren't necessary for getting around."

Footloose, are we? O…kay. "Well, as long as they don't catch you, then I guess there's no harm done, huh?" I chuckled. Deep down, though, I kept asking myself how somebody could dislike human contact, and yet have no problem going barefoot or sticking fingers in his mouth. Where was he from, anyway? Because he didn't look Japanese; okay, maybe a little, but only a little. He also looked kind of European. A little Russian…and French…Italian, maybe? I thought I could hear some British in there, but it was very faded, you wouldn't catch it if you weren't listening…

Oh hell, maybe he wasn't even from this planet; he just couldn't decide what nationality to disguise as before coming to Earth to visit? Honestly, he didn't look like he belonged anyone in the world. Maybe he was Martian, or at least grew up as a Martian? You know, like that guy from that book, a stranger in a strange land? I imagined a hundred stubby antennae somewhere underneath all that hair, vibrating as he—what was the word?—"grokked" the environment around him, maybe sending a picture to his kin back at home base.

"May I ask what's so funny?"

"What? Oh, uh, nothing!" I said, dreading the possibility that I must've been snickering at him the whole time. C'mon, Erin, get serious. Don't get too serious, though…

"Nothing, really; that's…just kind of a funny way to sit." Ryuga didn't exactly sit in the chair. He crouched on it, like a cathedral gargoyle or a monkey or cat or some other weird thing, with his knees drawn up to his chest. Like I said, I was by no means a sensationalist, but I have to say, something about Ryuga made it kind of hard to focus. He was that screwy.

"Mind if I ask how come you sit like that?"

"I have to sit like this," he answered as he reached for his slice of cake. "If I sat normally, my reasoning abilities would be reduced by about forty percent."

Again with the percents? "Really? Care to explain why? That looks a little uncomfortable to help you think clearly."

Ryuga shoveled a forkful of cake into his mouth. He sure was a noisy eater; he grunted and slurped with every bite he took, and when he swallowed, he gulped. You would've thought he was making out with the cake while he was eating it. He liked to talk with his mouth full, too: "Perhaps I could, but I don't suppose it would benefit either of us if I did."

D-did he just call me stupid? Christ, is everyone at To-Oh so unforgiving…?

Outside, I told him, "Now, hang on, I may not be an ace like you are, but I wouldn't be in college at all if I didn't have a brain and a sizeable attention span, Ryuga; you can tell me. Or you can not tell me, which is fine, too." God, did I feel stupid. I focused my gaze on the plate in front of me as I lopped off the tip of the cake with my fork. Deep down, I wasn't sure I would've understood if he did tell me, only because it was too screwy to be understood in the first place.

I waited until I swallowed my forkful of cake before continuing: "How a guy likes to sit works almost the same way as how he likes to…" I looked to the dessert for a little food for thought.

"…eat his cake. I do it my way; you do it your own way. But we're both eating cake, and at the end of it all, we're both happy, not to mention buzzed. And isn't that what really matters?" I said with a smile.

Ryuga's bland expression didn't shift a muscle, but he replied, "There may be some truth to that." I doubted I convinced him, though. That was sort of a lame thing to say. I had a million more of them than I knew what to do with, or wanted, for that matter. I wasn't even sure he knew what "buzzed" meant.

So I tried changing the subject: "Can I at least ask where you're from? I mean, your name is Japanese, but your English is…perfect. Are you in the exchange program, too?"

"Not exactly. I've been living in Japan for several years."

"Oh, yeah? Where were you living before then?"

"I resided in England for about five years when I was younger."

That didn't really answer my question, about where he was from. So, wait, was he British, then? Or Japanese? Maybe he was biracial?

"Hmm...I don't mean to be nosy, but do you have to work to go to To-Oh? I don't see you around much, so I was just wondering..."

"...I earn my money here and there, yes."

I grinned. "Is that right? Stick it to the rich kids! College should be for everyone!"

Now it was Ryuga's turn. "I suppose. If you don't mind, I have a few questions for you, or is this interview supposed to be one-sided?"

I was about to lop off another bit of cake when I froze. I never told him I was trying to interview him; how did he…? Well, maybe it was fairly obvious. But what could he possibly want to know from me? I didn't see any harm in letting him ask.

"No, I don't mind," I answered, fighting to hide any traces of hesitation. "Go ahead, shoot."

"Do you still have that photograph, the one you tried to throw away so recklessly?"

Even though I'd only taken like two or three bites of cake, I could feel it all molding into a huge lump in my stomach. That again? Why would Ryuga be interested in that?

"Ah—yeah. Actually, I do. It's right in my bag, as a matter of fact." While I leaned over to fish it out from the bottom, I mumbled, "Lucky I hardly ever clean out my bag."

As I slapped the rumpled paper on the table and tried smoothing it out, I told him, "Why does it matter, anyhow? It's got to be one of the most worthless pictures I've ever taken, if not the most."

"That's not true. You and I both know it," said Ryuga in between bites. "If you truly felt that it was worthless, you would have gotten rid of it, anyway, even after I returned it to you." I can't say I liked that, his psychoanalyzing me and whatnot; felt like he was looking me over more than he should've, right down to my cuticles. What made it worse was that I was supposed to be looking him over.

Right then, I wished I could reach back in for my hat so I could hide under it. Pathetic, I know.

"Well…why do you care so much about it?"

Ryuga, who held his place up to his face, peeked up at me from over the half-eaten cake. "Because," he said, "I believe you."

Now, that's probably not supposed to be a very big deal, when someone tells you that they believe you. It's nice, sure, but you probably wouldn't have taken that as seriously as I did at that moment. Pitiful as it sounded, I was someone whom almost nobody believed, not for real, honestly and truly, at least. Back at home, kids used to write my name down as "Errin' Blogger." It started out innocently enough, as an honest grade school misspelling—because nobody cares about how to spell a name unless it's their own.

But then came the whole fiasco with the principal and the new gym teacher (whom I thought were dating; and frankly, if you'd have caught them tangled up like that in the supply closet, you might've thought so, too). Some jerk on the yearbook committee thought it'd be clever to twist up my name like that. And unfortunately for me, it stuck.

I never complained about it, though, because I had thicker skin than that (I wish). Besides, I didn't think the principal was in the mood to stick up for me, even if I wanted him to.

Most people I'd tried to talk to about my findings usually gave me "Whatever," or "That's nice," or the occasional "I believe you: I believe that you must be high." Even if someone tried to be nice about it, like my family and friends, it didn't take away from the fact that they didn't believe me.

I didn't say anything, at first, mostly because I'd lost my voice somewhere in the void, and because I was waiting for old Ryuga to deliver the punch-line: "I believe that you're high-high-high." No, he probably would've said it like this: "I believe there's a three-hundred percent chance that you're high."

God, I dreaded that line. I mean, for one of the top students in my school—I should say "school away from school"—to say that he believed me at all, never mind about the thing…it sounded too good to be true. If he called me high, that might've just destroyed me (…a little).

I was shaking in my seat when I uttered lamely, "You do?" Oh, here it comes.

 

Ryuga rested the prongs of his fork on his lips, looking thoughtful. "Yes." That was all.

"But…you can't see it. And I can't make you see it. How can you believe in something you can't—"

He gulped down another chunk of cake. "If our beliefs depended solely on seeing concrete objects, I don't suppose we would have religion or regard oxygen and gravity as legitimate elements of science. Also, I believe I said something about that, the last time we met: your inability to convince others does not necessarily make you wrong." He leaned in a bit closer. "Now, tell me more about this…'thing,' preferably as much as you can."

A strange energy, quiet but demanding, washed over his face, like he really wanted me to elaborate on the picture. Was that why he showed up, in the first place: to find out more about the thing? Why he seemed so interested, I didn't know. But to be honest, right then, I couldn't care less.

In fact, for a moment, I damn near felt like diving in and kissing his pasty cheek, both his cheeks, even! Someone believes me. Someone believes me! Someonebelievesme— 

I didn't, though, thank God. Instead, I took a deep, shuddering breath, and set the fork down. I would not let this go to waste.

I lowered my voice to somewhere between a murmur and a whisper: "Okay, if you insist…"


	3. Jumped

The Ginza District in Tokyo did have some nice stuff on display, but I didn't necessarily go there to shop. Mostly I'd come to observe the people, see what they did for fun, maybe unwind some. I sure could've used a little relaxation. 

Being a New Yorker and all, I was used to the hustle-n-bustle of the big city. But I had to admit, I didn't remember seeing as many people in one place at one time before I blew in. It was like for every passerby in New York, there were three here. Somehow I managed to sail my way through the human rapids, hat over my eyes like the coat-clad hero in the movies, the restless reporter who went where there was a story to tell. If it didn't feel so out of place with the foreign rock music pounding in my eardrums, I might've whistled. 

I was sort of limping, too, and I stiffened my gait so no one would see it. Nothing serious: a while before, I'd tried out this crazy game where you danced on top of a platform and tried to keep up with these flashy arrows on a screen. DDR™, it was called: Dance Dance Revolution. They had a bunch of those machines in town, and it'd looked pretty cool, watching all those kids working it like they were born to do it; I mean, the way they moved so fluently, it looked as easy as it did fun. 

Except I'd come down wrong on my ankle before I could reach level three. It was rigged, I swear it was! Come on, how do you do that playing a video game? 

I'd managed to walk away, though not with as much dignity as I'd have liked. The girl I'd been playing with and her friends kept hovering over me, garbling words of concern in their native tongues. Once I got away, I decided to go get a paper. Nothing like the smell of fresh newsprint. 

I had my camera with me, so I snapped me a couple pictures for the journal, including one of the evil DDR™ game. Someone had to spread the word. 

Japan's more dangerous than they let on, isn't it? I thought, and that wasn't just because of the DDR™ game, either. I was thinking about Kira, too, whom for convenience's sake shall be referred to from this point on as a guy. The latest was that he'd attacked a station—Sakura TV—the other night. Held everyone there hostage if they didn't broadcast his message. I saw it on TV, in fact. At least three cops had collapsed in front of the building, and two reporters that Kira had supposedly predicted would die, right on the air. All dropping like puppets cut from the strings of life. Just like that… 

The most cinematic gore fest held no candle to this…probably because the whole thing was real, no matter how hopelessly I waited for those men to spring back to life, like they did in the movies. I can't say I'd slept at all, that night. I don't think anyone in the district got a wink, really. Or in the city, or in the country, or the…well, I don't think anyone got a wink, bottom line. 

These were only tremors in the war between Kira and the law; things would only get heavier. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if actual cracks started showing up on the concrete under my feet, after a while.

Naturally, with my head wrapped around the Kira murders and other dangers of the country, I sort of lost track of the narrowed path ahead of me. Somewhere down the line, I found myself in the middle of exotic fashion displays advertising fabulous sales. And by "exotic," I mean kind of Goth-looking: dark colors, stripes, crucifixes, a couple of skulls here and there, the works. But somehow, this kind of Goth felt different from the type I saw back at home. It had a lacier, almost flirty twist to it, not the obnoxious "don't-fuck-with-me-because-I-wear-combat-boots-and-five-plus-piercings-in-every-square-inch-of-my-face" type I knew at home. In a vaguely freaky way, it all looked kind of nice. Nothing I would wear, personally, but—

Anyways, it looked like I'd wandered into the Japanese outdoor version of Hot Topic™. The brave journalist in me, however, didn't feel like backing out of this uncharted territory yet. If it looked like a novelty, I felt compelled to check it out, maybe snap a couple pictures. Hey, it was free. How much better could it get? 

So here I was with my camera in front of my face, catching shoppers and sellers in their most natural poses. Nobody seemed to take notice, or if they did, they didn't care, which was good, because I liked catching people au naturel. When suddenly, the path in front of me became eclipsed by somebody's backside. A girl's. 

I didn't realize it until—FLASH! 

I thudded on the concrete on my ass, my camera practically lodged in my eye socket. Whoever I had ricocheted off of landed on her knees with a squeal, while her purse skirted by my side. 

"Ah, hey, I'm sorry, I really am!" I sputtered, swinging back and forth between English and spotty Japanese as I fumbled around to give the girl back her bag. She had a pretty weird-looking purse: black leather, with extensions shaped like bat wings. She must've been a regular to this strip of the district. She looked like it, from where I could see under my hat. 

My fingers hooked under the flap as I started slinging it back to her, when she suddenly whirled around and slapped a petite hand over my own, piping out something in Japanese. What was she trying to do, snap all the joints in my fingers? 

I let go of the bag. "Uh…what?" Man, the only thing more uncomfortable than bumping into a stranger out on the street is bumping into a stranger who probably couldn't understand a word you said. 

The girl blinked at me for a second, then flashed a bright smile. "Let me get that!" she trilled in wavering English. She hugged the bag against her like a breastplate. "That's mine! Ha-ha, I'm sorry, are you okay?" 

Only because I wanted to get this over with as soon as possible, I said, "Yeah, I'm cool." I had to admit, she sure was nice about the whole ordeal. She even helped me to my feet as she stood up, herself, with her purse tucked underneath her arm. 

When she saw the camera around my neck, her eyes lit up. "Ooh, are you visiting?" 

"Sure. You…could say that," I said as I dusted myself off. 

The girl bowed. "In that case, take care and have fun! And buy lots of cute souvenirs," she giggled. And with that, she bounded past me, her pigtails swaying on the top of her head like short, blonde ribbons. Like nothing had happened. For a while, I just stood there, gathering my bearings. 

I nodded. "Yeah, thanks, you take care, yourself." As I started moving on, I looked back to see where she was headed, but she'd already vanished deep into the masses up the street. 

I, in the meantime, raised my camera up to zoom in on the gates with the lens, to the highest magnification I could get so I could catch a picture of the holy hell, what is THAT?

Click!

Something from out of the top corner of the screen made me do a double—no, triple-take. This…this thing, this huge, bony, white thing, glided just over the rooftops some fifty or so yards away, in broad daylight. It slumped in mid-air like a grotesque marionette on invisible strings, its limbs dangling like streamers as its tattered bat-wings beat steadily to keep the thing aloft. 

My breath hitched in my throat before I could even attempt to shriek (not that I was much of a shrieker to begin with, mind you). Somehow, I wound up—CLANG!—backing into a display and getting tangled up in a striped shirt—with complimentary scarf—selling for thirty percent off. If I hadn't already popped clean out of my skin, I think the landing might've been more painful. 

What WAS this thing? Where did it come from? Could anyone else see it? How could they not? The sonofabitch was huge, maybe twice my size! Not that I could really tell, because of the ever-growing distance. And yet people continued to pass by, talking, gossiping, laughing, even, either totally oblivious or just nonchalant. Japan was notorious for freaky creatures, after all…in their media. 

Christ, that's what I got for messing around in the Goth section, huh? 

I didn't bother to clean up the mess I'd made. It took all the dexterity I still had just to get my damn camera back in my scraped hands. For what felt like forever, my eyes stayed pasted on the thing, wondering where it was headed, where it'd even come from, for God's sake. My mouth and throat had gone almost as dry as sand paper. Whatever little bit of my brain that could still function hissed over the roar of my pulse: Don't just sit there, idiot! You've just caught yourself a monster on film!

It's true. As…witless as I was at that moment, I was still Erin Blogger the journalist. I had taken "monster photos" in the past, like I said before, but all of those were mistakes. This one, THIS one was genuine (if not also the freakiest thing I've ever come across); something this much in plain view HAD to be! Had this miner finally struck sweet, sweet gold after all this time of coming up with pyrite? 

My knees became like slinkies as I struggled to get back on my feet. Trembling all over, I peeked up at the sky again, to see where the thing had gone. 

That was just it, though. It was GONE, like a kite snatched up by the wind from distracted hands. A very creepy kite, at that. 

…

Of course, I didn't tell Ryuga about the rigged DDR machine or the bargains they had up in the Ginza District. I made sure to leave out all of the irrelevant crap.

He wiped away the extra icing off the creases on his plate with his fingers, having obliterated his slice of cake. As he sucked them clean, he continued to stare at me with those abysmal eyes of his. "You spotted it in the Ginza District, by the Ginza Core on the corner of Chuo Dori and Harumi Dori, correct?"

"Yep. I mean, yes. That sounds about right."

"Do you recall when you saw it?"

"Sure do. April twentieth, a little more than a week ago. Saw it right in the middle of broad daylight. It must've been pretty ballsy to want to show up above a crowded street." It felt pretty funny talking about the thing, especially in this way. If I didn't know better, I would've thought Ryuga was interrogating me or something.

"Why do you say that? Did anyone else see it?" he asked.

"No, actually. I don't think so, no one that I know of. Why and how, I haven't the foggiest; this was one big, nasty mother. I-I mean, you know, it was pretty hard to overlook, if you were looking up in its general direction." I hastily stuffed the last chunk of cake in my mouth, in a vain attempt to remove any space in there for my foot.

I swear, you could hear his sucking on his finger from across the room. "Tell me, did anything in particular happen before you noticed it? Like, say, you encountered someone on the street?"

I raised my eyebrows in thought. "Well…I did have a bump-in just a little before then, if that's what you're talking about. I don't really see why that matters."

Well, all of a sudden, Ryuga leaned in even closer than before, one hand clutching his knee, the other still fiddling with his lips. "This person you bumped into…can you recall what they looked like?"

I uncrossed my legs so I could cross them in the opposite direction, and counted off every important detail off of my fingers: "Some girl. Short, petite, blonde with pigtails, kind of cute and bubbly. Oh, and she had a thing for black and stripes."

Ryuga got quiet for a second there, like he was trying to compute everything I'd told him. Then: "Was this thing following someone?"

With an inexplicable flush spreading across my face, I shook my head. "I wouldn't know, sorry. I would've loved to get acquainted, but it up and disappeared without as much as a 'Hey there.'" I guess I felt a little embarrassed, saying that, mostly because I hated being unable to give a definite answer. It made me feel a bit stupid.

I reached for my glass of water to wash the horrid dryness out of my mouth. "So, if you don't mind me asking, why would you want to know all of this, anyhow?"

"It's like I said before: I believe you." I could see his eyes narrow a little, like he didn't like repeating himself. Ppht, he wouldn't have to repeat himself if he wasn't so damn vague. I almost felt like telling him that.

Instead, I asked: "Yeah, but why do you believe me? Have you seen something like this before, or am I just that convincing?" I rubbed my knuckles against the fabric of my shirt, trying to look cool and confident and all.

Gee, Erin, you must secretly love the taste of your foot. Why else does it keep ending up in your mouth? 

"I have not. But something tells me that I am not wrong to believe your claims to have seen this…thing."

"So what, you're into the paranormal or something?" You certainly LOOK like the type that's into the paranormal…or more like the type that IS paranormal. "Ah, not that there's anything wrong with that, of course! I think that's worth looking into. Things aren't always as they seem, heh-heh."

Suddenly, I felt myself light up. I slammed my hand down so hard that I must've launched our plates millimeters into the air. "Hey, you know what? If we're both on the same train like I think we are, maybe you and I could do a little collaboration on this thing? With our combined talents, we could track it down in a heartbeat! Whatever 'it' is supposed to be. What d'ya say, huh? How about it?"

It wasn't that I couldn't go at it alone. I'd pretty much been flying solo since my career—or what I'd like to call "my career"—had begun. But that didn't mean I didn't like collaborating with people, especially if they could and would back me up. And teaming up with one of the top students at school, at that? Bonus! For another, I could have the chance to get to know him a whole lot better.

Ryuga paused. That weird deadpan look came over his face again. Then he really stuck it to me: "No, I'll have to decline that offer."

Oh no, had I come on too strong? I tried to make up for it by saying, "You sure? Are you sure you have to decline?"

His eyes rolled up towards the ceiling. He always had to look away once he got whatever the hell it was he wanted off of you. "Yes. Do what you wish, but it would be in everyone's best interest if we carried on independently." I didn't like how he said that, all lackadaisical and whatnot, like he suddenly didn't feel like talking to me anymore and only did because he had to. I mean, if that was how he felt, then why would he bother talking to me in the first place?

"But—but we're both looking into the same thing, aren't we? And I shared my findings with you; doesn't that count as collaborating?"

"Collaboration is, by definition, the act of working together in order to achieve a common goal. I merely said I believed you; I never said I wanted to turn this into a study, much less a group effort. Besides, it would never work. We would each only get in the other's way."

Why, because I'm not as smart as you are? I'm the one with the freaking picture, pal, even if no one can see what's in it. What've you got? 

That's when Ryuga started shuffling out of his seat, slipping his feet back in his sneakers. "Hey," I asked, "where ya going?"

"I beg your pardon, my time has grown short. I must be on my way," said Ryuga, burying his hands in his pockets like one of those shady characters in trench coats before vanishing into the darkness of a smoky bar. Or something to that effect. "Thank you for yours."

The smile on my face was all but forced. "Aw, you sure you can't stick around for one more round of cake? I can holler for more."

Ryuga tilted his head up in some random direction and deadpanned, "Thank you, but I wouldn't want you to strain yourself."

That Ryuga: what a piece of work! One minute he actually starts looking all right; the next, he throws a hit like that. It was almost like he didn't really want you to like him. Like he only talked to you at all because he wanted something off of you, and once he got it, he kicked you in the gut so you wouldn't feel like looking for him again.

All of a sudden, I felt like a classic all-day sucker, stripped right down to the crumby paper stick. Geez, it wasn't enough to be a crackpot; I had to be a sucker, too?

In that one moment alone, every nasty name known to human communication that you could call somebody like Ryuga buzzed through my head, including that one word I'd heard Kiyomi use earlier on that day. "Bah-kah." 

"O…kay, see you around, then. Oh, hey, Ryuga, one more thing…"

Ryuga stopped in his tracks, sparing half a glance.

"Do you by any chance know what 'bah-kah' means? I mean, not that I don't know. I was just wondering if you knew."

What he answered with instantly made me wish I hadn't asked, at least not like that. Ryuga nibbled on his thumbnail for a moment, then said, "Baka: it means 'fool, idiot, stupid,' et cetera. You must hear that word quite a bit, don't you?"

With that, he made his way-less-than-graceful exit.

Yeah, that's it, back to Mars with you…or wherever it is you came from.

Personally, I liked "jerk" and "bastard" better. "Baka" sounded too cute for its denotations. I wasn't new to being called stupid, but for someone to call you that in a foreign language so you wouldn't even know that they called you stupid…that was a cheap shot, right there. Her Majesty Kiyomi had thrown me a cheap shot, and now Ryuga, too.

Everybody at To-Oh liked throwing cheap shots, didn't they?

…

Huh. That didn't make them much different than American kids, did it?

…

Perhaps the most irritating thing about old Ryuga, if I had to name something, was that I had no idea what to make of him, after that. Honest, I didn't. On the one hand, he had to be one of the rudest, shiftiest, most backassward guys I'd ever met. I'd met plenty of rude, shifty and backward guys—who hasn't?—but Ryuga? He was in a class all by himself. Bold as that statement might be, considering how I hardly knew him, if at all.

On the other… he was the first one to say he believed me (without telling me I was high, afterwards). But after that meet, I started to wonder how much that really mattered. He could've just believed me—or at least said he did—because he was that screwed up, even more screwed up than I was. (Not that I was screwed up in the first place, of course.) I mean, this guy sucked on his thumb and didn't even wear socks. How he got to be a top student, I hadn't the foggiest.

The little interview I'd tried to strike up with him came out to be almost as fruitless as I thought it would be. I mean, it came out worse than I expected. When I managed to sneak back to my room and drum out everything he'd been willing to tell me on a document, I barely had a page; that's how much I had on him. All vague, trivial junk, too, nothing worthwhile, like where exactly he came from or what his secrets to success were. He could've written a novel with everything he got off of me, compared to what I had on him!

I damn near felt like dipping into the dirty inkwell of sensationalism and blowing up everything, just to make it look like something worth reading. I didn't, though, thank God. I wasn't that desperate. Instead, my little article earned a first-class one-way ticket to the wastebasket. And nothing anyone had to say could convince me otherwise.

As I flopped down on my bed in a huff, I stared at the seams underneath the brim of my hat and wondered what'd possessed me to ask him if he wanted to collaborate with me. Of course he'd turn me down, why had I expected anything different? He went by his own terms, after all.

Still, how dare him! That was all I had to think of, for lack of anything better. How dare him! How DARE him! How dare him…

I practically put myself to sleep that night, chanting that over and over in my head like a petulant mantra. I'd recommend sticking to counting sheep, though: chanting an angry mantra might've knocked me out, but it didn't exactly help me sleep well. In fact, when I woke up the morning after, my head felt as though jackhammers had been pounding it from the inside-out all night long.

And about seeing him around? I didn't get to. Because guess what Ryuga did after leaving me at the café? He jumped off the face of the earth, again. Must've found the place where the sidewalk ended and dove right off, or whatever—a tiny chunk of my imagination pictured his Martian buddies beaming him up into the mother ship.

Whatever happened, I wouldn't see him again for almost a whole month.

I, in the meantime, found myself in a rut. You know, when it feels like you got nothing good going for you, when all you can do is manage to get through the daily motions, and when you lay back and wonder how the hell you even got to the end of the day when you'd accomplished nothing worthwhile? I mean that kind of rut.

It was even worse to be stuck in a rut in the middle of a foreign country, where I knew nobody and nobody knew me. With all the kids in their little cliques and whatnot by now, I sort of darted here and there in my free time, like a hummingbird looking for nectar. Not that I was desperate for friends, mind you.

Aw, who needs 'em, barked my inner hard-boiled journalist with a tip of her hat. With nobody to tie you down, you're free to go to wherever the story is.

Sure, if I could find the story. Since that day at the café, I'd go back to the Ginza District in hopes—vain as they might've been—of seeing the thing again, maybe get more substantial evidence of its existence. I'd amble through the streets in the guise of an ordinary tourist, fingers on my camera as a hunter would on her trigger.

I wasted all my off-days in that district, morning to late at night, looking for the thing. And all I got for my efforts were sore feet, a foul mood, and at one time, an almost-brush with trouble. Some cop caught me slumped up against a streetlight—where I was resting my eyes—and asked me what I was doing out at eleven-something at night. What'd he think I was doing? A lot of people like to roam the streets at night, though, and not often for the purest of reasons.

I couldn't exactly say that I was looking for a monster, so I told him, "I'm just sight-seeing. The city sure is a treat to see at night." Lame, but logical enough. Hopefully.

"Where do you live?"

"To-Oh. To-Oh University," I yawned, wiping the crust out of my eyes. I had to admit, I was spent. I didn't feel much like arguing with a cop—he was sort of on the big side—so I told him I'd be heading straight back home. And I guess I have to give him credit; he helped me get there. And he didn't pound me over the dangers of hanging out on the street at night; he was sort of quiet.

Old Moji eyed me from his rear-view mirror. "Just be more careful. I wouldn't want to have to catch you out on the street, again."

"That's nice," I mumbled from the back seat of his squad car, feeling vaguely content to rest my head against warm upholstery instead of cold metal. "Yes, sir, Officer…Whoever-You-Are."

"Moji," he corrected. "Moji Kanichi."

"Mm-hm, yeah, thanks, Kan…Ken…don't worry 'bout it. You won't catch me again." I meant it, too, pooped out as I was. That would be the last night I wasted hunting down that goddamn thing.

…

Near the threadbare end of May at the height of the afternoon, I was crossing the schoolyard with my girls Yuki and Kyoko, having sort of invited myself into their conversation over a magazine they held between them.

Yuki shot me a mildly dirty look. "Have you nothing better to do?"

It would've looked bad no matter how I answered that, so I loomed in on this page they were on. "Hey, who's that chick?" I asked, pointing to the girl who dominated the page.

"No, I guess not," muttered Yuki.

Kyoko, on the other hand, answered, "What chick? That's Amane Misa, Misa-Misa! She is so cute!" I had to admit, this Misa girl did look pretty cute. Big, twinkling brown eyes, blonde pigtails, plump, flirty lips—

Huh. Looking at her, something about that model seemed kind of familiar. Like I'd seen her face somewhere before, only not in a magazine. I mean, like on the street…

I didn't have enough time to study the picture, because Yuki was starting to slip the magazine in her bag. At that moment, the two of them stopped dead in their tracks. Their hands clapped over their mouths like they'd just spotted something amazing.

They did, too. Kyoko gasped something in Japanese, but I could recognize one of the words: "Misa-Misa?"

Yuki also said something in Japanese, but I think it was a term of astonished agreement, telling by the way her eyes widened.

"Huh? Where, where?" I guess I started getting more hopped up than I would've liked, especially since I'd just found out that Misa-Misa was supposed to be a celebrity, and I was turning my head in every known direction when the little starlet was just a couple yards away under a couple of trees, with two boys. I think one of them was Light Yagami. The other, I recognized instantly. He could've been a whole damn district away, and I still would've recognized him.

Well, hang me out to dry. If it isn't old Ryuga, after all of this time! NOW what's he up to? Naturally, I was kind of torn over whether or not I should talk to him. Part of me was still crazy with curiosity; part of me didn't really want anything to do with him.

I didn't have time to think about it, however, when just about every kid who happened to be outside suddenly dropped everything and rushed to form a buzzing circle around Misa-Misa, like bees dancing around a single flower. I was no exception. I mean, hello? A celebrity showing up on campus out of the blue? That was not an event to be taken lightly. And hey, at least I got a distraction from Ryuga.

I stayed cool around the back of the crowd, seeing that I couldn't squeeze in to the front even if I wanted to, and hopped around a little in an attempt to look over the wall of heads. This Misa-Misa was pretty little to be a model—no, sorry, petite. That's the right word. Her voice? Not so much. Trilling and chipper, it turned heads and grabbed attention, right down to the squeal she let out when some guy had apparently grabbed her ass.

Who else was the perp standing right behind her but Ryuga himself? So much for being germaphobic. Somehow, I believed that. I wouldn't have put it past him to do something like that. You should've seen the look on his face: mouth half-agape, as absent-minded as can be.

He pranced up around Misa so he was standing in front of her and declared something in Japanese. I still hadn't mastered the language, but at least I could read actions; I think he might've said something about catching the cheek that did it, the screwball. Whatever he said, it made Misa laugh. Before long, everyone in the crowd was laughing, pardoning the whole situation.

Light? I didn't pay much attention to him. It was kind of hard to, when he just stood in between Misa and Ryuga, looking as though either he didn't want to be here or he didn't want the kids here. Yeah, he sort of faded into the background, even though he was the tallest…unless you count Ryuga, but of course, he was locked in his question-mark slouch. Light's posture was stiff and sure, almost lofty amongst the crowd, like an exclamation point. But that was it on him.

Then this lady in a green suit—probably her manager—barged in out of nowhere and grabbed Misa's wrist. Well, that put an end to the commotion, right away. As the lady started to lead Misa away, the crowd dispersed almost as quickly as it'd formed.

I saw Misa turn to wave her free arm and shout something endearing. I don't know what she said exactly, but I could pick up one of the words she used: "Light." Or something close to that.

Light? As in, Light Yagami? Do those two…know each other? 

I watched Misa and her manager head for the exit, and as I did, I twitched and tingled from my toes upward, the way I did when I saw—or at least thought I saw—potential for a great story. Why, you could say my journalist senses were tingling (or as my Aunt Bernice christened it, "joy-nilist senses"). With everybody out of the way, I could finally get a better look at her, and I couldn't help but feel a powerful sense of déjà vu wash over me. I mean, I just noticed how much she looked like that stranger that I'd bumped into in the Ginza District all those weeks before.

That alone had me trailing after the two of them before I even decided to trail after them. Going back to what I said before, you got to jump on opportunity before it gets away, or it may never come around again. Luck was a screwy thing; mine had always been, at least.

Besides, I figured it was high time I climbed out of my stupid rut, and this could've been my golden ticket to do exactly that. I followed the ladies from an extra-safe distance, eyes glued on them from underneath the brim of my hat as I clutched onto my camera like a lifeline. I could hear nothing but the roar of my pulse and the three hundred-plus questions I'd already plotted for Misa-Misa, all at once.

Wonder if she'll answer to an unofficial journalist, I thought as I shimmied over to the far side, behind the foliage. Maybe, a definite maybe; this girl's nothing like Kiyomi, at least not from over here. Wonder how she knows Light? Are they dating? 

A model dating a college boy: did I smell a slight scandal? Especially since I thought Kiyomi was already Light's girl. Ooh, I better be careful when I touch on that one, IF I decide to, or it's high school all over again. 

I didn't get to. In fact, I didn't get to touch on anything with Misa-Misa. She and her manager had barely reached the front of the building when I saw a group waiting for them, smaller than the crowd from earlier and not quite as spontaneous. In fact, it seemed that they'd been waiting there for a while, almost as if in ambush.

Come to think of it, they didn't even look like fans. They were all in suits…and helmets with tinted glass? No, really! I said I never picked things up out of thin air, didn't I?

I stopped cold in my tracks behind the corner.

What happened next was more of a blur than anything else, like watching a grainy police video on one of those cheap-thrill reality shows: the flashing of badges and the rattle of handcuffs while the startled shrieks of Misa and her manager punctured the air as the cluster of faceless men swallowed them whole like little animals in a quicksand pit of dark suits.

Click! My fingers acted on their own, capturing whatever they could on what looked like the biggest, dirtiest scandal I'd ever witnessed with my own eyes. Way worse than the overworn "who's-getting-hanky-panky-with-who" scandal.

Misa-Misa had been busted.

All the sensation in me from before disappeared. I felt as heavy as the pillar I'd been hiding behind as I watched one of the guys pin Misa's arms behind her, his big hand pressing over her drained face like he was trying to smother her as he barked something into her ear in Japanese. I'd have to use run-on sentences just to try describing what I'd seen. It was that bad.

Now, I wasn't scared or anything, but right then, my mind went as blank as a blackboard on Christmas break. What the hell had that girl done to get jumped like that? You would've thought that she was some escaped psychopath who'd stopped on the way to kill two or three or ten people, or something!

More importantly, what was I supposed to do? An incredible story was unfolding in front of me; what should I have done? Run up there and ask questions like an esteemed member of the press with my notepad waving around? Bold and direct, yes, but on the other hand, I didn't exactly want to end up with bracelets myself. Stay back and spy? Safer, yes, but on the other hand, I wouldn't get the whole story like I wanted, especially since I couldn't understand half of what they said. Ah, the glories of amateur-hood.

When the feeling returned to my legs, I ended up doing the yellowest thing I could think of. I ran. Or to be more exact, I scurried backwards, all the way back down the corridor and around the corner in a cheap spastic imitation of the moonwalk, my eyes never leaving the group as they started to lead Misa and her manager away. I fought to go forward, but the more I wanted to, the more my feet kept yanking me backwards.

Only when I felt remotely safe did I realize I hadn't been breathing the whole time. Did they see me? In all that ruckus, it wasn't likely they saw me. Oh God, they better not have!

Back pressed against the wall, I held the camera in quivering hands and pulled up the new picture on the screen. It was blurred, and I might've shot it a little too high, but I could see Misa's disheveled blonde head prominent against the suits and the helmets. Solid enough, I'd say. But…now what?

Duh, investigate, Erin! What else're you gonna do, let somebody else get the scoop, first? 

Adjusting my hat, I started to peer around to see if they were still there. They weren't, like they'd never shown up at all. I winced.

My fist made contact with the wall behind me. GodDAMN it, Erin! You let it get away! You finally had a real million-dollar nugget right there and you lost it! What total PS! Can this get any worse? 

I think from that moment on, I'd regret ever asking that.

I turned to my left to find a familiar pair of abysmal eyes staring up into mine from the bare skin of the tip of my nose. Oh, Christ, just the last guy I wanted to see, right then.

Once I managed to climb back into my skin, I sputtered, "Ryuga! No offense, but you really gotta quit doing that."

"Doing what?" Like he didn't know.

"That! That thing, when you get up and…you know!" I wasn't just talking about his lack of boundaries, either. Why was it that when I wanted to talk to him, he had to get all shifty and elusive, but when I didn't want to see him, then he popped up?

I pushed myself off of the wall and dusted myself off, hoping he couldn't see how tense I was. "Whatever," I snorted. "Do what you want." I started to walk away. I had no idea where I wanted to go; I just knew that I needed to get away.

To my dismay, Ryuga started to follow me. Before long, he fell in step by my side, hands buried in his pockets. I wouldn't look directly at him, but I could feel his gaze fixing on me, on my camera, in particular. Bothered hell out of me. I reached up to cradle it in the palm of my hand, like a mother walking alongside a potential baby-snatcher.

"What's wrong?" he asked me.

The lining of my hat became moist and sticky with sweat. Would it be wise to tell him that I'd just seen Misa-Misa get arrested? Probably not, not after what happened the last time I spoke to him. But on the other hand—stupid as it felt—this part of me felt somewhat inclined to spill it to him, just because he'd said he believed me.

"Ah—nothing. Nothing, really. It's just been a crazy day: exams, homework, social obligations. You know, the usual monkey business." I stretched out my arms to try to loosen them up, knocking my hat to the ground accidentally-on-purposely, in the meantime.

"Whoops! Heheh, dropped my hat." As if that wasn't obvious. I bent over to pick it up, just to have it roll a little further away (off the tip of my shoe). So it kept going, and of course I had to chase after it. Hats: gotta love them and their multi-functionality.

Somehow Ryuga wound up in front of me, and I damn near crashed into him. As usual, his face was unreadable when I dared look up at it. Did he know that I was trying to ditch him?

I pushed some stray hat hair back behind my ear and grinned, hopefully not looking too sheepish. "See what I mean? Crazy day."

Ryuga bent at the knees and he, in what I guess could qualify as a half-assed act of chivalry (considering that he'd just touched a girl's butt shortly before), picked up my hat. He held it by the brim out at arm's length, pinched in his fingers like it was a snot rag.

"Er…thanks," I said, slapping the hat over my head. So much for that.

His eyes remained on my camera swinging from my neck, resting a finger on his bottom lip. "Have you seen anything new or unusual lately?"

"Hmph, maybe I have, maybe I haven't. That's not really any of your business, is it?"

He pointed at my camera. "May I have a look?" Oh no, he wasn't pulling that on me, again…whatever exactly it was he was pulling.

"Sorry, pal, but I've got nothing. I really don't."

"Then, if you truly have nothing, I would assume that you would be willing to show me the contents on your camera to verify it."

What was his problem, all of a sudden? I clutched the straps in my fist. "What're you, a cop? I don't have to show you anything, because I got nothing to show. Even if I did, I should let you know, Erin Blogger does not put out for free. Uh, put out my brain, I mean." I might've slapped myself if I wasn't so busy trying to get him off my back.

"It's not like we're working together. You said so yourself. So how's about keeping it that way? All right?" I started heading in another random direction. "See you around, Ryuga," I dismissed with a wave. "No hard feelings!" For some reason, I could feel beads of sweat rolling down the side of my head.

Well, somehow Ryuga circled around without my noticing and stuck his gaunt face right back into my own, looking thoughtful as he nibbled on his fingernail. "If that's the case, then I'd like you to have dinner with me. So we can get to know each other better."

Oh boy, the old buy-the-girl-over-with-dinner trick? Where the hell did that come from? I didn't think he had it in him; he just didn't look like the type. "Sorry, I-I don't think I heard that right. Dinner? Is that what you said?"

"Yes. Dinner at my residence, as early as possible."

I forced an amicable smile as I started to back away. I couldn't say what exactly, but something was off with the way he looked at me, all of a sudden. More off than any other time before, I mean, almost dangerous, even. With every shaky step I took away from him, he moved a step towards me.

I raised a hand out in front of me, waving him off in defense. "Haha, aren't you a regular sweetheart? Thanks, Ryuga, that's a, erm, nice offer, but I…I'm afraid I'll have to decline." Almost exactly what he'd told me before; only difference was that I had a good reason to say it. "I've already got plans for tonight, see—"

"Please, I insist."

"Look, Ryuga, I'm sorry, but I don't—"

Every blood cell in my veins froze into crystals the instant his free hand swung up to squeeze my forearm. All I'd wanted was to get out of my rut, but something in my knotted gut told me that I'd just jumped into something worse. Way worse.

"Likewise. But for your sake, I strongly suggest that you accept my offer."


	4. Nuisance

No fair!

I swear that was the first thought in my head when I could finally start thinking again, after he'd just sc—startled the figurative piss out of me. Because come on, it really was unfair! I was all for self-assertion and everything, but this…where was this coming from? I never pulled that PS on him!

My free hand fought to dig through his fingers as I tried to tug and pry my arm out of his grip. "Are you threatening me?" I snapped, mentally wincing at the waver in my tone. My voice must've shot up a whole octave, which I couldn't say did any good in making me sound tough.

I tried answering with a threat of my own: "Watch it, buddy. With that attitude, the only thing you'll score is a cot in a cell…and a lesson in not dropping the soap."

I don't think the tittering helped much, either. I kind of had a habit of messing around whenever I smelled trouble brewing. Even so, a tiny part of me prayed that that was all this was: a joke, a really lousy joke. That he hadn't meant that in the way it sounded: like he'd hurt me or something if I didn't accept his invitation. But you could never tell with Ryuga. I think that was what set off the alarms in my head; they didn't know if they should go off or not, if that makes a speck of sense.

For such a sickly-looking guy, though—and someone who supposedly disliked human contact—his grip was steadfast. In fact, the more I pried at his fingers, the more they tightened around my arm. His touch felt cold and impassive, almost like a handcuff.

While I struggled in one direction, Ryuga started tugging me in the opposite. Unfortunately for me, it looked like he was winning our little tug-o'-war. "I'm not threatening you. All I'm saying is that it would be in your best interests that you cooperate," he said, almost wearily but nonetheless unyielding.

Cooperate? Just who did he think he was, a cop? That might've been his major and everything, but still!

I bared my teeth at him. "What's the matter with you? Look, it's nice that you're interested in my material—for the most part—but it's mine! I saw it first, and I shot it first!"

All of a sudden—for a merciful, way-too-short moment—Ryuga stopped tugging. I was so surprised that I quit tugging and stumbled right into him. My face must've glowed as brightly as a stove burner with the knob twisted clean off.

Had I just blurted something I shouldn't have?

"And by 'it,' you mean…something you may not have meant to see? Or for that matter, were not meant to see?"

"What would you know about what I can and can't see?" I said that kind of loud, on account of I could hardly hear myself over my thundering heartbeat. Hey, whatever I could do to sound tough, I'd do it. Just to mock him, I told him almost the same thing he'd said to me the first time we met: "You wouldn't be saying that unless you somehow already had 'a clear concept' of what I've been up to, would you?" I even made sure to draw quotation marks in the air.

"And for that to happen, you must be with them. You're with those cops, or something. Is that it, huh?"

I thought I could scare Ryuga into letting me go by really sticking it to him. A shifty kid like him, posed with a question like that? He shouldn't have stood a chance. Plus, I thought sarcasm could make me look more formidable if I used it right. All the hard-boiled heroes I'd ever seen in the movies were masters of sarcasm.

Well, I wound up learning the hard way that you got to be careful where to apply attitude, especially on guys like Ryuga. For three reasons: 1) Weirdos in general were a waste of sarcasm; 2) Ryuga could bite back twice as hard; and 3)—

Ryuga's eyes rolled up towards the sky. "It appears I was right."

What? Right about what? 

"We really would get in each other's way."

…

WHAT? I-is he—? You mean that—

He went right back to pulling me along, almost like a little kid. I was practically hopping on one foot just to keep my balance. "Hey, hey, slow down, will ya? Where're you taking me?"

Ryuga wouldn't look back at me until we reached the outskirts of the parking lot. "Like I've said before: to dinner. The sooner, the better." With his other hand, I saw him pull out a cell phone from his pocket. He pushed a button, then held it up to his ear, pinching it from the top. Naturally.

"We have a guest to bring back," he said into the phone. "Please bring the car around."

Gah! Oh man, he's not really with the cops, is he? Either way, it doesn't sound like he's flying solo... 

My breath hitched in my throat, solidifying into a sticky mass that wouldn't go down no matter how hard I gulped. My throat became barren of words, but my mind was spinning in all directions. For some reason, I heard the shrieks of Misa-Misa and her manager echo in my ears.

What's going on? I always thought Ryuga was shifty, but this…what IS this…?

Who is he REALLY—?

Trouble and I went way back. Sad truth was, not everybody appreciated a journalist's enthusiasm, and as a result, I'd fallen into quite a few soups in my never-ending search for a story. Take that incident in high school, for instance, the one that gave me my "nickname." I'd been accused of trotting on the fine line between honest journalism and sensationalist garbage, specifically, of teetering more towards the latter. I'd been shunned, grounded, sent to detention, you name it.

But never before had I crossed swords with Johnny Law. This—this big, steaming cauldron of soup I'd somehow fallen into had to be my all-time high…or low, I guess, depending on which way I looked at it. Either way, it sucked, sucked the big one, because as far as I was concerned, I hadn't even done anything.

And for the moment, that was all I had to say on it, because onward from the point when Ryuga hung up, this soup would only get bigger, messier and steamier—in the bad way—than any soup I'd ever waded in.

My eyes drifted up towards the sky. Part of me, who still hung on to the half-baked notion that Ryuga might've been an alien, sort of wondered what it'd be like to get abducted by Martians, and expected a saucer to glide in from out of the blue to beam us up. What we got instead was a car, but not a squad car. A sleek, black Rolls Royce with tinted windows purred up the road like a cougar on the prowl.

Of course. If they'd shown up in a squad car, it'd only look bad for them, worse than things already did. But a Royce? Of all makes and models!

As soon as it pulled to a stop, an old man in a black suit and derby hat stepped out to open the door for us. For a cohort of Ryuga's, he actually looked pretty normal, almost like a British grandfather or something. I didn't feel any less insecure around him, though. He was working with Ryuga—whose real name I was seriously starting to doubt—and that was more than enough for me.

I should've blown their cover, I really should've. I should've kicked and screamed and cried potential date rape, like they all say you should do in times like this. Why did I let Ryuga and his senior sidekick guide me into the backseat, with my bag pressed against me like a breastplate? I'm not sure. I guess because in my head, I had two options: either to raise a huge commotion, or stand tall and face it like a real journalist…whatever "it" was that they had planned. It felt too yellow to shriek for help like a damsel in distress, but in a way, letting them get me in the car was pretty yellow, too.

So I guess I wasn't so much deciding the smartest thing to do, as I was deciding which seemed to be the bravest. With every second that passed, the former became less and less possible. I'd still pay for it, either way.

With my life, in the worst scenario.

"We really would get in each other's way." 

Somehow, I was in the way. Did that mean…?

Huh. I'd daydreamt of stuff like this before: the young, brave journalist uncovers possibly the biggest, dirtiest scandal she's ever uncovered, and a couple crooked cops catch her and take her away to shut her up for good. In a foreign country, too. What a way to go! How heroic, how fucking fantastic!

So…why did it feel anything but heroic or fantastic? Probably because I'd never given much thought to the dying part. Didn't the hero usually get away before things got to that point, anyway? Hell, I hadn't even counted on something like this actually happening. 

Reality: it bites, right down to the marrow. If I'd known that I wouldn't be returning home, I would've climbed all the way up Lady Liberty to kiss her good-bye. I would've held on to Mom and Dad a little longer. I guess I would've drummed up my will, too. I didn't want to go without having properly distributed my stuff.

I stared at the back of the driver's head, wondering how they were going to do it. Pull up under a bridge somewhere and blow my brains out, maybe? No, wait, Ryuga had said we were going to "dinner," at his place.

Death by tainted gourmet, then, huh? A dinner date on the surface, a palatable execution underneath…brother, gotta love gallows humor.

My nerves jolted me out of my paralysis when they felt a hand on each side of my neck, pinching the strap of my camera as it swung it over my head in one brisk swoop.

"H-hey! That's mine!" It wasn't enough to kill me; he had to take my stuff, too?

In spite of the direness of the situation, I dove at Ryuga, who was crouched on the other side of the car with my camera in his grip. He didn't have to do much to stop me; he just pinned me by the shoulder with one hand, held me off at arm's length, while I flailed my arms around like one of those wacky inflatable tube-men in front of a car lot. He held my precious out of reach in the other, examining it right down to the Canon™ insignia printed on the top.

"Give it back, that's mine! I thought I already told you it's mine!"

"The camera may be yours, but I'm afraid its contents are not."

Imagine that: I'm on my way to my execution grounds, and I'm bickering with my killer-to-be over the camera, almost like how Farley and I used to bicker in the backseat when we were younger. I really didn't like that look he had on, like I was boring him or wearing him out or something.

"Why not?" I kept asking him. "What's going on? Who the fuck are you guys?" They were already set on killing me; what more harm could be done to press for answers? Since I'd found my voice again—late as it was—God forbid Erin Blogger shut up, not until the bitter end.

Naturally, neither of them would give me any. I hoped they realized how bad it made them look, their not answering me and all. Instead, the driver peered at me through his glasses and the rear-view mirror and said, "Please settle down, miss. We are almost there." Like this were just an innocent dinner date and not a murder/ conspiracy in the makings. His trim white mustache fanned over his mouth.

Believe it or not, Ryuga's "residence" turned out to be a suite, one of those real upscale, swanky suites, at a hotel that rose up at thirty-plus stories. Nothing at all like the sullen roach-infested motel with the word "vacancy" blinking on and off on the bad side of town that I'd conjured in my head. I stopped struggling for my camera as soon as I saw the building from the window. I guess it shouldn't have surprised me that much: we came to the place in a Royce, after all.

I quivered and boiled with way more emotions than I'd like to name off, biting my upper lip as I fought to hide every one of them. Huh, loaded, isn't he? At least he's nice enough to give me an elegant atmosphere to die in, I thought bitterly. Impressive…for a guy who doesn't even thank you when you buy him cake. 

And to think that I'd barely known him before…

Ryuga's assistant came out first to open the door, and Ryuga started to lead me out of the car, holding out my camera in front of him at arm's length. I felt my knees turn into slinkies the instant my feet touched concrete.

Not surprisingly, his room was way the hell up on the top floor. And just before he unlocked the door, the driver said, "Allow me to take your hat, miss. Your bag, as well, please."

Oh Christ, they wanted everything? With Ryuga clinging to my one arm, I could hardly decide whether to use the other to clutch my bag or my hat. So I snapped at him, "Oh, sure! Why not conduct a cavity search, while you're at it?"

I shouldn't have said that. Once I realized I might've just given Ryuga a bright idea, I winced. I tensed up from the toes upward when I saw Ryuga look up above the doorframe, like he really was contemplating it.

Finally, he said, "No, that won't be necessary. But thank you for the suggestion."

Stripped of all the possessions that mattered to me, I was seated at a table before I knew it. Guess what was set in front of me?

Soup. A fine, hot bowl of gourmet soup. The appetizer. Heat pooled around every cranny of my face, and not just from the steam rising off the dish. As I stared down at my yellowed reflection, I felt mocked, though not really by anyone in particular. I just felt mocked somehow, for the mess I was in. It may have just been my pulse, but I thought I could hear laughter echoing in my ears.

For a dumb bowl of soup, it looked pretty enticing, smelled even nicer. But I pictured all the ugly crap simmering beneath the surface: cyanide, lithium, and a couple other poisons that no normal person would know about, nor whose names could they pronounce. Besides, I didn't have much of an appetite, what with the big hole where pretty much all my vital organs should've been, including my stomach.

I took my spoon and dipped it into the soup, stirred it around the rim, expecting to get a melted stick of metal when I pulled it out. I didn't. Then I spotted a potted plant in the corner. I wondered if it would die if I poured a little soup on it. I didn't feel good about subjecting an innocent plant to something like that, but you know…

"Are you all right, miss?" asked the old man from my other side. He sounded like a decent guy, a bona fide gentleman compared to Ryuga. But that was about it. He sure had some nerve to ask his victim if she were feeling all right. "Are you not hungry?"

Somehow I managed to feign a smile, however crooked. I didn't think I should let them know that I knew about the poison. "Sure, sure. You cook all of this yourself? You've got some nice-looking eats spread out here…but they look too nice. Art museum-nice, in fact. I feel kind of bad about eating it all."

Guess who saw right through my PS? "If your suspicions of poison are what keep you from eating, I should inform you that they are unfounded. The food is perfectly safe."

I glanced up. Don't ask me how long Ryuga had been sitting—crouching, my bad—across from me, but I found him there. It looked like he'd skipped over all of the other courses and headed straight for dessert. Out in front of him was a huge chunk of what looked like pie or cobbler topped with a fresh, hearty scoop of French vanilla ice cream—or was it cookies 'n' cream? Maybe one of those native flavors? Whatever. With the lavish spread in front of him, and the intense way he was eyeing me, he almost looked like a diabetic hedonistic emperor debating between throwing his prisoner to the lions as lunch or to just have her slain in front of him for his viewing pleasure, and then throwing what was left to the lions. Except he wasn't wearing a toga or laurels.

I pushed out the soup a little farther away. "Safe, huh? How about proving it, then? Have some."

The old man obliged without a word of protest, because God forbid Ryuga desecrate his taste buds with anything other than sugar. He took a spoonful and sipped quietly, and was still standing when he lowered the utensil.

I was watching him, checking to see if he'd pull anything funny, like dribble the soup down while pretending to sip it. Except I noticed something even funnier out of the corner of my eye. I saw Ryuga screwing with my camera like the dumb monkey he sat like. By that, I mean opening it to drop the memory card into his open palm.

He held it out towards the old man. "Please make sure all the data on this card is erased."

By pure reflex, I sprang right out of my chair. "No, hold on, you can't do that! Those are my pictures you're messing with! My property!" It was one thing when I wanted to throw my stuff out, but for somebody else to think they could do it without my say on the matter was…was downright dirty!

"We are willing to grant compensation—"

"I don't want your 'compensation!' I've got plenty of cash to get by on, thank you very much. Just gimme back my camera and let me go. Look, if this is about that girl getting arrested, it's not my fault I happened to see it! If you wanted to keep it low-key, your boys shouldn't have done it in front of the damn school! School's the worst place to take stuff you aren't prepared to lose, like your cover." I could remember how every teacher I'd ever had told me that, even though they'd mostly been referring to electronics or trading cards.

You know? Sometimes I look back on this, and I wonder if I should've just taken the money. I'd never been bribed, before, not with as much money as I'm guessing these two had had in mind. As dirty as it sounded, it might have saved me a heap of trouble. Or made it worse. Depends on whether he would have really left me alone after bribing me...

Ryuga looked at me as if I was blowing smoke, but kept quiet…no, more like observed me. Maybe I should've done the same, shut up, I mean, but I didn't. I was on a roll, boy. "J-just what'd she do, anyway? What'd Amane do that you don't want getting out?"

"I wouldn't want to burden you or myself by giving such information. You've gained awareness of too much, already."

"And how would that be burdensome? I would've thought that your biggest concern would be where to dump my body once you killed me." Any minute now, I expected the old man to lunge up from behind with a steak knife, right across the throat.

Ryuga shoveled a forkful of pastry into his mouth, his eyes narrowing with what could've been boredom or annoyance, maybe both. "I assure you, we didn't bring you here to harm you," he garbled between bites.

I'm not sure how I felt about that. Of course I wanted to live, so hearing that they weren't going to hurt me should've given me a little relief. On the other hand, I sure as hell didn't trust them. How could I?

I felt my face soften a little, but my breath remained shallow. "Y…you didn't?"

"At present, we wouldn't have anything to gain by killing you." Of course, it was too far below him—or above him, depending on which way you looked—to say something at least remotely normal like, "No, friend, it's all cool, for the most part." Although I guess nothing about this dinner had gone on with even a tinge of normality. In my ears, what he said was synonymous with, "We'd kill you if we could."

"And we would have done something by now, if those were our designs."

"So…I can go? I can go in peace, preferably in one?"

"Not quite."

My chest tightened when he said that. I didn't like how he said that. "What d'ya mean, 'not quite?' You're not gonna let me leave, or what?"

Ryuga licked the sugar off of his lips before diving in again. "Unfortunately, yes."

I was waving my hands around like signal flags. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, let me get this straight. You're telling me that you'll let me live—which is good, don't get me wrong—but you won't let me go back home? Like, I'm supposed to stay here?"

Ryuga chomped down another forkful of cobbler. "That's not a problem, is it?" Huh, the nerve! He said it with his mouth full, too.

"Yes, that's a problem!" I sputtered, not sure whether to try spooning his eyes out or—well, I don't want to say "fear for my life," exactly; more like "grow tense with caution." "First, you screw with my property, now you want to hold me prisoner? You can't do that, I haven't done anything! Th-that's gotta be a violation of convention rules or something!"

"You know too much. If you won't take compensation, then we have no choice but to keep you here, for security's sake."

"But—I—you—all right, hey, wh-who's your boss, your chief? I wanna talk to him, see what he has to say about this!" I jabbed a finger at his forehead. "Where is he, huh, Ryuga? Who's the ringleader of this circus?" A pretty bold request, I realize, considering the position I was in.

Ryuga was wiping up traces of melted ice cream off his plate with his fingertip, when a faint humming split the thick silence between us. I saw him slip a hand into his pocket to pull out his cell phone.

"Is that him? Is that your boss?" I asked him. He just shifted his gaze over to the old man, as though handing him a mute command. Before long, the old man had come up and started leading me away from the table by the shoulder.

"Where're you taking me?"

"Into the next room, miss. You will need to remain here until further notice." He led me into this really posh-looking bedroom and guided me to an armchair. He couldn't make me sit in it, though.

I tried to squirm out of his grip. "No way, Grampa! What kind of cops are you, anyhow? Don't even let people speak to your boss." Boy, was I on a roll, but that wasn't my fault. I mean, first I thought I was going to die, and now I was facing wrongful imprisonment, here! Having never faced anything worse than a grounding before, I didn't quite know how to handle it. It all felt so…surreal. The stuff of movies, without that vicarious rush that made me think to myself: Wouldn't that be awesome if I got into something like that? 

Now that I had gotten into something, I felt anything but awesome.

I decided that I hated irony. Oh, I despised it. I mean, if you could classify this soup I was in as "irony."

"I understand how upsetting this may be for you," said the old man gently, "but you must—"

"Why don't you?" I barked, not caring to let him finish. "All I did was see Misa-Misa get arrested! You're already set on erasing the data on my camera; why keep me here, on top of it?"

Maybe that depended on just what the hell Misa had done in the first place? Celebrities got busted every day, but thanks to the media, we always heard about it the next day, and for days after (not that I condoned tabloids and rag T.V., because I didn't). The way things were looking so far, she must've done something pretty heavy. I mean, like something on a national scale, like killing the Prime Minister, or the whole Diet.

Honestly, though, I found it hard to imagine such a sweet girl as a hard-core psychopathic killer. I'm not saying it was impossible, just really hard to picture. Kind of disturbing, too, worse than any hook-hand and gore-painted hockey mask.

Huh…killer…

Killer…

…

Oh my God.

No way. 

I looked back up at Ryuga's partner, who I decided for the time being to call "Grampa." Rude, maybe, but you know, he didn't have a name that I knew of, and I doubted he'd give me one if I'd asked. "Hey, Grampa, this wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that Kira character, would it?" My voice got all squeaky, like my voice box had gone to rust.

Grampa was quiet for a while. I couldn't tell how he took that; his eyes were squinty and his mouth hid behind his mustache and all those layers of wrinkles.

I put my hands out in front of me like a shield. "I-I mean, bear with me for a minute, seeing as you're planning to keep me here, anyhow. I still don't know what you and Ryuga arrested that girl for, but is Kira why you wanted to keep her arrest a secret? Because he goes after criminals who've been featured in the media?"

That would explain why Ryuga and Grampa wanted to destroy my pictures—not that that made it right—but why keep me locked up, too? Paranoid—

Just then, I had another thought, one almost as terrifying as the prospect of Kira's involvement in this whole soup. Had the police been ordered to lock up any journalist who'd even so much as seen a criminal get arrested? Who'd told them to do that?

I bet my chips on the one guy who held boundless influence over police forces all over the world, the guy who I'd heard was supposed to be leading the investigation against Kira.

L.

That was all the world knew him as. Just L. Just a letter. Nobody had ever seen his face, or knew his real name, but he was supposed to be what the world called its "greatest detective," cracking cases otherwise un-crackable. Lately, though, word on the street was that he wasn't getting anywhere with this investigation since he'd "declared war" on Kira, and that he was incompetent and full of hot air. Maybe he was getting desperate? He must have been, if he was resorting to arresting random people.

I stood up from the chair. "Is L your boss? 'Cause if he is, I-I wanna talk to him!"

I don't know what I was thinking when I said that. That might be it, though; I wasn't thinking. I would compare what I did to pissing in the wind. Sort of like a gerbil when it was scared. Except I wasn't exactly scared as I was desperate for answers, like how I couldn't just will away the urge to pee when I got it. I had to let it rip.

The reason I say "in the wind" was because come on: a nobody like me working up the guts to ask for the world's greatest detective? Not only gutsy as all hell, but just as tricky. If you weren't careful when you pissed in the wind, it whipped right back on you.

If only I'd have been more careful.

Was Grampa's mustache smiling at me? "I must credit you for your astuteness," he said softly. "You'll make a fine journalist, one day, I'm sure." Was it me, or had the thermostat broke? I suddenly felt like pulling on the collar of my shirt.

I snorted, "I read the paper, what can I say?" How did he know what I wanted to do with my life? Oh, well, judging by the stuff I carried around, maybe it was fairly obvious? Deep down, though, I thought, Holy hell, I'm…I was right…?

My heart thrashed against my ribcage like it was trying to escape before it could catch a bullet or two, real or imagined.

I expected him to say that I was in no position to speak to the great and almighty L, but instead, Grampa said, "As for speaking with L, however, I'm afraid that isn't possible, right now."

"Wh-why not? I'm not asking that he show his face or anything, I just want to talk this out. You cannot keep me here! Can't you, I don't know, set up a computer and webcam, or something? Hey, is Ryuga talking to him, right now? Can you ask him if I can get a word in?"

Grampa guided me back into the armchair. "Wait here, miss, I'll be back momentarily." He left me there in that room, a soft click echoing across it as soon as he shut the door behind him.

Oh, no. He did not just—

I raced for the doorknob and jiggled it up and down. It wouldn't budge. Grampa had locked me in.

My fist pounded vainly on the woodwork as I pressed my forehead against the polished surface. I could hear them talking, their voices muffled from the distance and walls between my point and theirs, no matter how hard I strained to hear them. They weren't going to let me talk to big L, were they? It didn't look good. Nothing about the whole goddamn thing looked good.

Around that point, my stomach started to twist and gnarl, either in apprehension or because my appetite decided to come back and let me know that the tank was empty. Probably both. If I hadn't thought they'd poisoned the food, I might've grabbed a bite before they shoved me in here.

I don't know how long I stood there propped up against the door, but as soon as I heard feet shuffling towards the door, I managed to peel myself away and straighten up the best that I could. Grampa unlocked the door, and Ryuga came in, with a little butterscotch Dum-Dum pinched in his fingers. Even though he'd just polished off a huge helping of cobbler and ice cream.

I couldn't help but wonder how a guy like him could ever be an undercover cop. But maybe that was the point? He was the kind of yahoo that you would never in your right mind guess to be a cop. It was so stupid, it was clever, if that makes any sense.

"Ryuga! Hey, buddy, so what's the verdict? Can I talk to your boss or not?" I felt kind of light-headed, all of a sudden, like my brain was leaking out of both my ears.

His eyes stayed locked on me, as glazed as the Dum-Dum as he took a lick off the top. "No."

"No? What d'ya mean, 'no?' Is he so busy that he can't take ten, maybe five minutes to talk?"

I thought I heard Ryuga quietly grunt, like he didn't feel like answering that. His eyes rolled up until they seemed to fix on the creases on my forehead, like he were studying them, what for, I couldn't guess.

"You truly are a nuisance, aren't you? Actually…the reason I say you can't speak with him," he said, lazy as hell, "is because you already are."


	5. Trapped

I don't remember what happened next, too well. One minute, I was locked in a staring contest with Ryuga—and losing. Then this soft, almost inaudible thud coming from somewhere, but nothing else.

Next thing I knew, I was sputtering ice-cold fluid out of my mouth and nostrils. As soon as I could blink out the watery blur in my vision, I found myself peering up into a way-too-familiar-but-nonetheless-eerie pair of eyes.

"H-hey," I choked, "what'cha trying to do, waterboard me?"

"She's coming to," announced Ryuga, proceeding to slip the Dum-Dum back into the corner of his mouth.

"To the contrary, we've been trying to revive you," said Grampa from somewhere behind me.

"You underwent an acute stress reaction and lost consciousness," said Ryuga, his pasty cheek bulging with the hard candy inside it.

I was seeing purple and green spots dance all around his face; it certainly could've used all the color it could get. "Wh…Wha…?"

"You fainted, Miss Blogger," said Grampa, who had a hand on either one of my shoulders, keeping me propped up.

Once it'd been established that I was awake, Ryuga rose up. "Which I must say, is not the most adaptive coping mechanism…unless, perhaps, you happen to be an opossum." He said it like "oh-possum," not just "'possum."

I might've taken that Dum-Dum and pierced his lips with it if I didn't know how right he was, deep down. That was a pretty stupid thing to do; probably the yellowest reaction I'd ever had to anything. If I'd been in one of those action thriller flicks in danger and I did that, I would've been dog meat in nothing flat.

Then I remembered. I already was dog meat. I sort of wished that this was all it was: a dream, a movie with a bad plot. I sort of wished that I could've tuned out of it when I'd fainted and that when I'd wake up, I'd be nice and safe in bed back at my dorm. Or even better, in my room back in New York.

Except this wasn't a movie. This was real.

As I looked up at Ryuga again—who was no Ryuga, after all—he suddenly looked five times bigger, more foreboding, even with the lollipop in his mouth. Because I also remembered that last thing he'd said before I'd…tried to tune out. The reason I'd done it in the first place.

Every interjection known to human communication held a demolition derby in my head, all at once.

No way. No way, no fucking way. 

Up until that point, I was no different from the rest of the world: I'd never seen L's face. But that didn't mean I hadn't painted a picture of what he might've looked like. The L in my head was a tall, shadowy, seasoned guy in a suit and hat, middle-aged, with brooding looks and muscle and a slight stubble. Sort of a Sherlock Holmes™/ Batman™/ James Bond™ hybrid-thing going on, with a touch of House™. Sometimes he'd have scars on his face (the mark of a true man), and sometimes he'd have a cigarette and gin, because all badass detectives smoked and drank, or had some other vice. Oh, and a gun. No crime-fighter should go without a gun; two, if their job was especially perilous.

The L I had right in front of me, though…no, it just wouldn't register. It registered about as well as a three-dollar bill at a foreign bank. What I had here was a young kid, not much older than I was (then again, I started to doubt even that). A scrawny attic-dwelling type, on top of it, or an escapee from an institution somewhere, who sucked his thumb and nibbled on his nails and went barefoot and sat funny and wore the same grungy clothes every day—

…and was currently savoring a butterscotch Dum-Dum, an outlandish substitute for a cigarette.

L was not supposed to be someone I felt more inclined to throw peanuts at than trust with a dangerous case like the one at large. Mind you, I don't actually go around throwing peanuts at people but I can't be the only one that thinks there are certain kinds of people that you'd easily mistake for zoo animals and throw your peanuts at them to eat, like this guy in front of me. What he had just done was the equivalent of a little person coming up to me saying that he was the world's number-one basketball player.

Now I liked to consider myself a generally open-minded person but this…after having him drop this bombshell, it was a miracle my head was still intact at all. I had to feel around the sides of my head just to see if it had any cracks.

When I couldn't find any, I rubbed my eyes dry with my knuckles. Once I could find my voice again I coughed, "Sorry, I—I don't think I caught that. Nope. You're L? Is that what you said? Seriously, with jokers like you who needs Kira? Did you just say you were—how can you be L? That's just too rich! You've got to be a decoy or a representative of his or something, there's no way—"

"Perhaps I can't convince you, but that doesn't make it any less truthful. That being said, I now have all the more reason to keep you here under surveillance."

What was I supposed to do, roll with it? I might've made it easier on myself if I had, but I just couldn't. And I don't just mean believing that this sugar-fiend was in fact L.

God, was I tripping all over myself, all of a sudden. I mean, was I supposed to call him "sir," now, or "Mr. L," or "His Almighty L-ness," or…what? "W-wait, come on, Ryuga—uh, I mean, hold on, eh, L—"

"For security reasons, I would advise you not to call me that. From now on, please address me as Ryuzaki." What the hell was wrong with his other alias(es)?

I decided not to touch that though. I'd already undergone arguably more brain-screwing in one day than most people of my background would go through in their whole lives with no doubt more on the way, the way things were going. Besides detectives were supposed to have aliases, all the really good ones at least. I wouldn't have put it past this guy to have at least 366 aliases: one for every day of the year, plus Leap Day.

"O…kay." Somehow, I found my footing and staggered back up with Grampa. "Look, I think we can be cool about this. You can let me go home, can't you? I'll get out of your hair and I won't breathe a word about this to anyone! I swear I won't!" I might as well have gotten down on my knees and wailed for mercy; that's how bad I must've sounded. I wished I'd had my hat back. I would've sounded more confident if I had.

"I mean, even if I did say something it's not like anyone would believe me! No one ever believes me…" I wasn't even sure if I wanted to believe it. Something this huge, this epic…

"I believe you."

For the umpteenth time in the past hour, I had no idea how I felt. No three words sounded more beautiful in my ears…and yet so shifty like the one who said them.

"You…do? So, I can get out of here, then?" I said hopefully, mostly just for the sake of hoping.

"I'm afraid not."

I could feel the color draining out of my face, oozing out in pit stains from under my arms. "What? Bu—but you just said—"

"I believe you," said Ryuga/ L/ Ryuzaki/ He-With-Too-Many-Aliases, "because you will remain here under constant surveillance."

For a second there, I remembered something my cousin Melanie told me once about guys: "You oblige them one dinner date, and suddenly they think you're their captive or something: pretty much why I'm a lesbian." Her words, not mine. I'd laughed that off before, but I sure as hell wasn't laughing now, when the words crossed my mind again.

"…You…mind telling me how you're planning to hold me captive?" It was a miracle I was still capable of speech.

L tapped the Dum-Dum against his lips. "'Captive' is a rather harsh description of your case. Unlike a typical captive, you will not be in any mortal danger…that is, as long as you are willing to cooperate. All your needs will be provided for, and you should find your accommodations more than satisfactory." Like that was supposed to make the whole set-up hunky-dory.

"So what? You're still not gonna let me leave the building, are you? What about school? I have a life outside to attend to, you know! Don't you think people are going to wonder where the hell I am?" Deep down though, I sort of wondered if anyone at To-Oh would notice if I'd disappeared. The majority of the student body had no clue of my existence and the rest had pretty much shunned me. It was bad enough being held captive by a shyster who claimed to be L but somehow the thought of no one even noticing me being gone made me feel sicker than I already was.

"Hmph, I'll bet you won't even let me contact my family back home either."

I heard him grunt again, like he didn't want to hear it. I might as well have been talking to a monkey the whole time. "If only you listened as much as you talked. You will be permitted to continue your education, but you'll have to have someone from the team escort you so that we may continue to watch you. Furthermore, you must return here immediately after classes. As for communicating with your family…perhaps we can allow that. On the condition that you'll be monitored, that is."

Thereby pretty much stripping me of my two most important rights: privacy and the freedom to say and do what I wanted. Huh, "not captive," my ass.

"You mind telling me how long it'll be until I can go?" My voice shook more and more with every word I said, no matter how hard I fought to steady it.

L took a thoughtful lick off the Dum-Dum. "To be safe, we will watch you until Kira is captured." He said that like he was set on catching the bastard first thing Monday morning.

Well, that did it, for me. "E-excuse me? No, uh-uh, that won't work, Ryug—Eh—Ryuzaki! That might take months, maybe years! Wh-what if you never catch him, huh? I don't have forever to waste!"

He can't get away with this, can he? Just because he's supposed to be the world's greatest detective shouldn't give him the right—

Suddenly, L plunged his face right back into mine, a bare inch keeping us apart between the tips of our noses. I flinched something awful: something you should never do, especially when facing a big-league detective, even if he was the world's best.

"I can assure you, Miss Blogger. Kira will be brought to justice, sooner than you may believe." That was all he had to say on that, or at least, was willing to tell me. But something had changed about his tone, all of a sudden, all low and dark and determined, lethal, even. Almost like I'd brushed a nerve somewhere in that no-doubt labyrinth-sized ego of his that switched him from "numbnut mode" to "hardass mode."

No matter how hard I tried to anchor myself, that dizzy feeling washed over again, like I was going to faint, again. I probably might have, had Grampa not been behind me and caught me before I could collapse.

"You just need more nourishment," said L as he pulled away, having gone right back to a lazy monotone like nothing had happened. "You shouldn't go very long without eating; it interferes with one's ability to think."

Somehow, I found it in me to shake my head. "Uh…thanks, but I—I'm not all that hungry, I'm really not."

My stomach picked that moment to go turncoat on me: Urrrrrrr. 

If he had any eyebrows, he might've arched one.

I glared down at my gut, and at L's bare feet. Suddenly, I'd found it nearly impossible to look him in the eyes.

…

The first night I spent with those guys was, if not total hell, pretty close to it. Oh sure, they gave me a lavish bedroom to crash in—the best I'd ever had and probably would ever have. But make no mistake about it, it was still hell. All that was missing were window bars. For one, he still wouldn't give my stuff back, not even my hat. Right as I stood there jiggling the doorknob in vain, he must've gotten busy "burning the evidence and everything extra, just to make sure."

For another, when I walked into the bathroom to take a desperately needed shower, I remembered what L had said about "keeping constant surveillance." Had he planted cameras in there? I couldn't see any, so he might've planted them in the air vents or in the faucets, maybe in the woodwork, too.

A shiver shimmied up my spine and down again. My skin crawled the way it would when a bunch of unwelcome eyes focused on it at once.

Lousy paranoid—he has to be a pervert, on top of it, I thought with a groan. I wound up kneeling over the basin and dunking my head under the nozzle to wash my hair, fully clothed, almost like how Mom had the family wash our hair in the kitchen sink when we were having the bathroom renovated. At least then I wouldn't give L anything to look at.

When I got out of there, fluffy cream-colored towel wrapped around my head like a turban, my eyes darted towards the small laptop sitting on the nightstand. L had had it installed in case I ever needed something so I could call on Grampa—whose real alias turned out to be Watari—because he forbid I should walk out and ask for anything in person. By "something," of course, he meant pretty much everything except the chance to go home.

I wondered if I could use it to send an E-mail, to my family. Not just an E-mail; an S.O.S. E-mail. L said I could still communicate with them, but that it'd be monitored. I'd have to find some way to disguise it like just a regular "what's-up-I-miss-you-guys" E-mail, while trying to tell them that I was in serious trouble (as much as they wouldn't have wanted to hear that). Maybe from there, they could contact the FBI, or even the President, if they had to.

I would've made a mad dash for the thing if my skin wasn't still prickling all over, worse than on a cold day without a jacket, or even slacks, for that matter. He was still watching, I just knew it. All right, Erin, just act natural. One foot in front of the other…

The trek from the bathroom to the bed had to be one of the longest walks of my life. When I could finally sit down, I flipped the laptop open with quivering hands, already drumming up a code in my head. There's gotta be some kind of E-mail wizard somewhere on this stupid thi—

The laptop suddenly emitted a weird beeping noise. The next thing I knew, the screen had gone blank, invaded by a "W" in bold Cloister Black font in the center of it all.

I drew back with a muffled yelp. After the day I'd had, even the littlest things could sc—startle the piss out of me.

"Yes, Miss Blogger? What is it?" said a voice. It sounded like Watari, only kind of choppy, like he was speaking to me through a running fan or something.

Crap. "Uh…hey, Grampa. I, uh, don't really need anything at the moment. I was, er, just…checking to see if this thing really worked! And I guess it does. So…g'night, then!"

"Are you sure you didn't log on with a request? Whatever it is you need, I can get it for you." 

"Can I go home?"

"No, not at present." 

"Well, never mind, then!"

Click. I closed the laptop. A half-hour later, I tried again, hoping the old man wasn't still there.

Bee-beep. 

"Yes?" 

I prayed to whoever was up there that cared to listen that he hadn't heard me gulp. "Oh, hey, again, Grampa."

"What do you need?" 

"Ah, nothin'. Sorry about that. G'night!"

Click. 

You'd think the old man would have passed out already, I thought as I started to unwrap the towel, letting my gnarled hair drape down past my shoulder blades. I spent the next hour combing out the snarls with my fingers. I gotta give him credit; he's no old fart. 

While I waited for the hour to pass, I sat around by this window to look out at the city. Boy, I always found something magical about the way the city lights illuminated the streets and skyscrapers at night, whether from a sterile street light or an office in the graveyard shift, or from a flashy neon sign at a nightclub. It was enough to sweep all the PS of the day out of sight and mind; almost like watching those nebula clouds way up in outer space twist and swirl and glisten, except from the comfort of planet Earth, especially on the clearest nights. As I pressed my hand against the cold glass, I couldn't remember any other time I wanted more to get out there and drink it up than I did then.

Then I remembered why I couldn't.

Before I knew it, I was back over the laptop, fingers barely wrapped around it when I flipped it open.

Bee-beep. 

"Miss Blogger?" 

SONOFABITCH!

"Oh, hi, Grampa."

"It isn't necessary for you to call me 'Grampa'…but at any rate, is something troubling you?" What a thing to ask, in light of the whole stupid mess. Still, I was a little amazed how patient Watari sounded, like I hadn't been calling him over nothing for the past two or so hours, even if I hadn't meant to.

I guess when you worked with a nutcracker like L, you had to have all the patience in the world and a half.

"No," I drew out.

"Yes. Excuse me, miss, but Ryuzaki wishes to have a brief word with you." 

Oh man, what'd he want? I folded my arms. "I'm in the next room. If he's got something to say, he's more than welcome to come in here and say it to my face," I snorted.

Just then, the laptop made a new strange noise: not a bee-beep to indicate Watari, but more of a wispy woo-woo kind of noise, like the sound of a saucer beam before blinking out into this huge "L" in bold Cloister Black font. I sort of recoiled when it did that. His letter was even bigger than Watari's, naturally.

"We installed this laptop so you could maintain communication with us without having to leave your room," said a whole new voice, even more mangled and choppy than Watari's. I might as well have been speaking to a bona fide robot. Or a Martian. "It's not a plaything. I would suggest calling only when you actually have something to say." 

I wouldn't admit it, but somehow, talking to this synthesized voice made it a speck more bearable to speak to L, as opposed to doing it face-to-face. But just a speck, enough to pump me up with enough bravado so I could tell him, "Well, maybe I do have something to say? What're you doing out there that you're keeping me in here for?"

"That," said the letter L, "does not concern you. Although I suppose I should inform you—in case you haven't already noticed—that you cannot send electronic messages through this computer. Not that you should feel it necessary to, because again, you are in no mortal danger." 

I almost had an aneurysm. Oh man! How did he know I'd been trying to contact my family before I even got to type one word down? He really was the world's greatest detective, wasn't he…?

Worse than that, from that point on, L probably wouldn't let me speak to them, period.

On the outside, I snorted, "Yeah, fine, whatever. Thanks a lot. G'night, Ryuzaki!"

Click! I practically slammed the laptop shut. "G'night, Crumb Bum," I hissed. Another thing, I'd kind of imagined L to be a huge jerk. An asshole. Most detectives were assholes. The really good ones anyway, it came with the territory, which meant L had to be the practical godfather of all jerks and assholes. So far, that seemed to be the only thing about this guy he got right. I just hadn't counted on how bad he really could be in person. It seemed almost…I couldn't think of the right word, at the moment.

And he calls himself 'justice.' What PS. I played with guesses on what "L" might've stood for. Lunatic. Loco. Lousy. Loser.

I suddenly started to wonder how effective my plan would've been, anyway, had L let me send a message at all. What if they wouldn't have noticed the secret message? Worse than that…what if they wouldn't have believed it? I could imagine Farley firing back a reply—if L would let me read it, that is—something along the lines of, "Things have been pretty crazy over here, too; extraterrestrial terrorists are currently holding the Statue of Liberty hostage." He'd done that before.

My face started to crumble, chip by chip like old paint. That was the one thing about journalism that sucked: make a couple mistakes, a little misinterpretation here and there, and no one believed a word you said, even when you did tell the truth.

Given the situation, though, I wasn't sure even I wanted to believe it. In fact, I still clung to the vain hope that this was all just one terrible movie, and that any minute now, I'd wake up dazed in front of the tube at home. It'd happened before.

But not this time.

I threw myself face-down on the mattress, clinging to the pillows for at least half an ounce of comfort. Probably not the best way to react, but I couldn't help it.

That's it, then. I'm fucked. I'm toast. I'm sunk. I took one wrong turn and now I'm broke down in the middle of Gonersville, and that numbnut monkey in the next room is the mayor. No, that's not right, more like the governor, or the president…or supreme overlord. Yeah, that's it: the supreme overlord of Gonersville. Also, as if that weren't enough, the world's greatest detective. World's greatest detective…Jesus F. Christ. 

All I wanted was a good story. 

I felt like I'd just taken a sledgehammer to both sides of my head. Only in bed could I find the time to comprehend the magnitude of the whole thing—or at least try to—and that's when I realized something that I couldn't decide made me the luckiest girl on the planet or the unluckiest: I'd found it. No, not just a good story; the story of the century. I mean, if that was L out there, then that meant that he and the police must've been in the middle of investigating Kira, probably at this very moment, while I lay thinking about it.

Was that why he'd locked me in here?

My grip on the pillows tightened, almost to the point of ripping them to shreds. Of all the amateurs in the world, I had to walk in on the story of the century. Me! Getting the real skinny on the whole thing...and unable to share it with anyone. Like being shipwrecked on a deserted island with a treasure chest choked with dubloons. Or getting caught underneath a landslide inside a gold mine. Or striking sweet, sweet oil in the middle of nowhere, and then having it combust around me into a ring of fire by the unforgiving sun that was luck.

In spite of myself, I suddenly felt an empty, half-assed urge to gloat. But with too many people I'd always wanted to gloat to—and at the same time, no one to gloat to—I settled for the bitter smile that cracked my lips.

Take that, world, I generalized, reaching in with my knuckles to rub the burning out of my eyes. I dared not make a sound, because I thought I could feel a sob shuddering through me, threatening to heave out the instant I parted my lips.

I wiped my nose with my sleeve. Get a hold of yourself, Erin! No matter how bad it gets, they don't cry in the movies; neither should you. Stay tough. Don't give him that satisfaction. Just don't…

In fact, just to somehow prove how tough I (thought I) was, I rolled over so I could face the ceiling. I folded my arms across my chest, locked in a glaring contest with the shadows swimming across the walls. With the faded blotches of city lights pouring in from the window. With L, from wherever the hell he was watching.

The room seemed a lot bigger from this view.


	6. Brat

If I got at least one wink of sleep that night, I didn't notice. When the morning rolled around—there I was, wondering if it ever would—I was snuffed, the line between consciousness and coma reduced to a smear, like a line in the sand washed over by the tide.

Speaking of sand, my eyes burned as though someone had kicked a pail-full in them. Somehow, I'd wound up on my side, lying on my arm until it felt less like an arm than a piece of meat attached to my shoulder. In fact, all over I felt like one big, grounded piece of meat. With whatever concentration I could achieve, I wiggled my hands in order to put enough feeling back into them so I could rub my eyes out.

When the room around me started coming back into focus, one of the stupidest things happened. My eyes darted in all directions, and I kept asking myself, Where am I? How the hell did I end up here? 

A hand clutched my chest when I suddenly remembered. Oh, yeah, that's right. Yesterday, I saw a celebrity get busted. Then I got kidnapped by the world's greatest detective. 

Worst. Dream. Ever. 

Except…if that was a dream, then why am I still here? Either I'm still out cold, or…

I groaned as I squirmed around in an attempt to sit up. I landed on top of reality when I managed to roll off the bed and crash onto the floor on my back. I thought I heard all the disks in my backbone click at once as the pain shot up from the gaps between them and into my brain.

Damn it. You might as well face it once and for all, Erin: you're not dreaming. 

At the same time, though, how could I just accept it as reality? I was stuck, sort of like how I was stuck on the floor, eyes rolled up at the laptop that perched a tantalizing distance above me. This position looked eerily similar to the Life Alert™ commercials back at home: "Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!" 

…

Huh. If L would ever be put in charge of answering Life Alert™ alarms, thousands of seniors would waste away on the floor without anyone ever knowing. I didn't need help, anyway. With a little clinging to the sheets, I was back on my feet again. That is, until I sat down on the bed to message the ache out of my temples, twist the cricks out of my neck: the whole routine.

Only problem was, that was the only part of the morning that felt like a routine. I was all for adventure and everything—that was why I'd gone to Japan, after all. But I also liked having at least a vague idea on what the hell I was doing. Now that I'd gotten caught up in this mess to end all messes, what was I going to do? I sure didn't feel like talking to my captors—yes, captors, no matter what L said otherwise—but I sure didn't want to stay cooped up in this suite forever.

My jaw found its way into my hands. No doubt that L would do everything in his power to keep information on the Kira case out of my range. But should I have sought it out, anyway? No matter how much I knew, I could never tell anyone about it. Every way I looked at it, I'd been silenced: the worst possible thing that could happen to a journalist, even if my life had been spared.

What good was the story of the century—or any story—if I couldn't even share it?

I jolted up when I heard someone knocking on the door, most likely Watari. Like I said, I didn't really feel like facing my captors, but I guess I had no choice. They set it up so that I'd have no choice in anything. "Yeah?"

"Good morning, Miss Blogger."

Good morning, my ass. 

"Breakfast is ready whenever you are."

I'd slept—or something along those lines—in my clothes the night before, and the rest of my stuff was still back at my dorm, so that was pretty much taken care of in the wardrobe department for the moment. But boy, was I a sight for sore eyes, when I got the chance to see myself in the mirror. By "sight for sore eyes," of course, I mean a sight that made eyes sore in the first place.

Ratty hair, bloodshot eyes, complimentary bluish insomnia rings, crusty drool-spots around the mouth, the works. I looked almost as bad as L. I mean, I made him look like a prince. Which I guess didn't make too much sense, since his rings were way thicker and darker than mine would ever be, implying that he'd been sleep-deprived for more than just a night or two. But maybe that was it: he'd been doing it for a long time, so he'd sort of…adapted. Unlike me, who'd only experienced a couple bad nights in my life—a couple too many—and would much rather sleep if given the choice.

Anyhow, it was nothing a little elbow grease couldn't fix, for the most part. Once I was satisfied with whatever color I could scrub back into my face, and I had my semi-tamed hair back in a braid, I headed for the door.

I rapped my knuckles against the wood. "You still out there?" I called out.

"I am."

"Great, because it's kind of hard to get breakfast when the door's locked."

Watari unlocked the door. I sauntered out, trying to look as cool as can be, like I hadn't just survived a god-awful night.

"Did you sleep well, Miss Blogger? You seem rather irritated, this morning."

You and your boss are holding me against my will; why wouldn't I be irritated? 

I waved a dismissing hand, while the other slipped over my mouth to choke back a yawn. "I slept fine, thanks. You guys sure know how to live, don't you?" I looked him over, expecting him to have a tray with grub on it. He didn't. "So, I can go out there to eat breakfast, then?"

Watari nodded. "Ryuzaki is waiting for you. He'd like to negotiate with you about the arrangements on escorting you to school."

Translation: "He'd like to tell you how he's got it all worked out, and would like you to roll with it, no questions asked."

"Cool. Very cool." I let Watari lead the way to the table, focusing on the distant smell of cinnamon wafting through the hallway. Actually, it was as far from cool as scientifically possible, but I guessed it could've been worse. I could've been a suspect in this whole stupid thing. At that point, that was the only thing I could think of that could keep me going. If this was how he treated witnesses, I shuddered to think about what he did to suspects.

But another thought made me shudder, instead. On the other hand, when it came to murder, everyone and their dog was a suspect; at least, that's what I'd gathered from the movies and the books. I mean, they could be the most random Joes who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time—I mean, just show up—and suddenly they were suspects. I wouldn't have put it past L to think that way.

If that was the case, though, it'd probably be a terrible idea to ask him if I was a suspect. "Anything you say can and will be used against you." 

It always was, too.

L was tucked in his monkey-squat at the table, knees drawn up to his chest, with a smorgasbord of cinnamon rolls with extra icing lined up in front of him. He was licking—more like slurping the frosting off of the roll cupped in his hand when I came in with Watari, who pulled up a chair for me. As soon as I came in, he stopped in mid-lick, his tongue attached to the roll.

Man-child. I didn't think those existed outside the sentimentality of the media, much less a man-child detective. 

"Would you like some tea, Miss Blogger?" asked Watari.

"Yeah, sure, thanks," I said, not taking my eyes off of L as he did the same. "Are the rolls up for grabs, too? Or does being L give you the right to bogart all the junk food around here?"

"I told you to call me Ryuzaki," said L.

Whatever. I still can't believe you're the L, anyway. 

Heat pooled around my cheeks. "Sorry. Can I have a roll, or not, 'Ryuzaki?'"

Watari poured the tea. L looked down at his roll rows, then at me, than back at the rolls.

"Please?" 

Like he was making a huge sacrifice, he finally plucked a roll off the end of a row, and pushed it across the table on a small plate with the tip of his finger. He kept the other twenty to himself. In fact, as soon as he fixed his attention back on the rolls, he started adjusting them so the rows would be evened out.

"Gee, thanks. So, you wanted to talk to me about how I'm getting to school?"

L started adding sugar cubes to his tea. He was the type that, if you asked him if he wanted one lump or two, would tell you, "Eight." Why, he wouldn't even wait to be asked; he helped himself. "That's right. As I said yesterday, you can still go to school, but you will have to have someone escort you from class to class."

"Okay. So which one of you yahoos is gonna do it?"

Just then, some young guy in a wrinkled suit and tie popped into the room, waving. "Good morning! I'm Matsui!" he exclaimed with a kind of gaiety that clashed with the dark stodginess of the room, his mussed black hair fluttering over his chocolate eyes and around the shape of his head.

We all turned to look at him. L in particular looked like he was trying to melt his head. It took a while for Matsui for figure out why we were all staring at him, and when he did, he turned as pink as a baboon's butt.

"Oops…erm, too early?"

I think some other guy from somewhere called him an idiot. "Baka."

I looked back at L, my thumb jabbed at Matsui. "Don't tell me: those are cops working with you or something?" For the first time in the past couple hours, a grin cracked through my face. "Well, hey, if I'm staying with you, why not we all get acquainted? What's up, Matsui?"

Matsui grinned right back at me and started to step forward, when L told him to stay put. A brief, tension-filled silence fell across the room before L said he and the others could come forward. Of course. L had to call the shots on everything.

Soon four men in suits and ties were in the room, including Matsui. The other three looked kind of beat, no doubt from the case they were working on, but not too beat for courtesy.

The oldest-looking one in the glasses introduced himself first, his words tinged with uncertainty: "Yes, good-morning. I'm Asahi."

The second one with the afro—the kind you might find in a cheesy kung-fu flick—introduced himself next: "I'm Aihara." He was probably the one who'd called the Matsui guy an idiot. He kept stealing skeptical glances between L and me, like he wasn't keen on the idea of having me here. Agreed, Aihara. Agreed.

The third one, a big guy with a crew cut, said, "Moji."

I perked up a little when Moji said his name (or alias, I guess. L and Watari went by aliases; why wouldn't these guys?). "Moji? Say, you look familiar…you look like that cop who drove me home, that one time. Well, it looks like you caught me again, huh? Are you taking me to school?"

Moji just pursed his lips. He wasn't too big on talking. Matsui, on the other hand, was a regular chatterbox. "And I'm Matsui! But I already said that, haha!"

I didn't know whether to bow or whatever, so I just waved at them. "You can call me—"

"Oh, that reminds me," L cut in. "As long as you are here, you will have to go by an alias; just a security measure."

The grin ran away from my face. "An alias?" I didn't see the point in having an alias when he knew my real name, and the guys who worked with him probably knew my name, too.

I sighed. "All right, give me a minute to come up with one…"

L's tongue flickered in the center of the roll. "No need. Your name here will be Elin Crocker." He was like the little kid who wanted to play house and insisted that his playmate be the dog (though he'd have definitely fit the role so much better).

I threw my arms up. "Aw, come on! Why do you get to make it up? It's my alias! Shouldn't I make it up?" Elin Crocker…that sounded dangerously close to Crackpot. I wondered if he'd had that in mind when he decided to hand me a name like that.

I bet he did. He'd taken my stuff, then my freedom, now my very identity.

What a brat.

That's it! That's the word I'd been looking for! How was this for a headliner: "World's Greatest Detective A Man-Brat!" I was too upset to apply alliteration. You kind of need a clear head to think of alliteration. But did it need it? Just putting those words together like that made it outrageous.

"You haven't touched your roll, Elin Crocker. Are you not hungry?"

In that one moment alone, I wanted to hurt him. I couldn't say just how much I wanted to sock his jaw so nothing more could either go in or out. But I couldn't. It wasn't worth it. He wasn't worth it. Besides, how could I ever touch a guy with power? Enough power to lock me up if he felt like it?

So I just pushed the roll back towards him. I'd suddenly lost my appetite. "You know what? Keep your stinkin' roll. It's ashes in my mouth."

L took it back. "Drink your tea. It'll help to wash out the taste."

…

The one L had set up to chaperone me turned out to be Matsui. Since L had put me in a foul mood, the first couple minutes of the ride were tensely silent. I stared out the window to watch the city streets blur by, my hat pulled way down over my eyes. It probably wasn't right of me to give old Matsui the cold shoulder, since he hadn't really done anything to me. In fact, the only grounds I had to do it were that "he worked with L."

I would find out a moment later, though, that you couldn't do that with Matsui. When there was a cold shoulder, he broke the ice. He'd even changed into more casual wear for the occasion. Although I guess that was so he could blend in better with the college setting. A detective trailing a college girl around wouldn't look too good.

I felt a hand over my shoulder. "It'll be okay, Elin. It's all for the best. We're just keeping you safe." Kind of funny how, with his accent and all, my alias almost sounded like my real name. In the East, they've got the "L" and "R" sounds reversed.

Did L have that in mind when he made it up?

By 'keeping me safe,' of course, you mean 'keeping THE SECRET safe.'

"Um…so, you're American? What's it like over there? I hear they call New York 'The Big Apple.' Why do they call it that?"

Normally, I would've loved to go on a rave on how great New York was, but not then. I was too busy making discrete faces in the mirror. When I wouldn't answer him, he let it go. The momentary silence indicated thinking on his part.

Then: "Do you like radio?"

I peeked up from under the brim of my hat. "I guess," I mumbled.

A smile played on Matsui's lips, happy to have shaken two words out of me and determined to get more. "You mind if I turn it on? I love the radio. But I can't play it when I'm riding with the others."

I waved a dismissive hand. "Knock yourself out, Jack."

"Matsui," he chuckled. He clicked the knob, and before I knew it, bouncy foreign pop music rattled out of the speakers. For a twenty-something-year-old detective, his tastes seemed more like those of a teenage girl's. He didn't seem too ashamed about it, either. In fact, he almost instantly started tapping on the steering wheel with the heels of his hands and—I kid you not!—singing along in his native tongue.

Again, my expectations of detectives had been smashed. Only this time, it didn't hurt my brain as much. In fact, a chuckle crept through my teeth, in spite of myself.

Just when it sounded like he'd gotten real deep into it, Matsui paused to ask me, "Want to sing along?" It came out like one quick word: "Wanttosingalong?"

I tipped my hat out of my face. "Uh…no, thanks. I don't…I'm not really into, you know, singing in the car." That was a lie, in all honesty. I just didn't want to tell him I had trouble following what the hell he was singing. The way his words poured out so fast and easy...it made me sound mentally challenged in comparison. The song was kind of catchy, though, in a corny bubble-gum way that made me want to hum along. My toes acted on their own as they started tapping to the beat. I quickly pulled my hat down over my face, in hopes that he wouldn't see me bobbing my head.

He just smiled at me. "You know, I don't think less of you for still learning the language. No one does. It took me years to learn English."

Who was I trying to kid? Matsui was a goofball, but he was still a detective. I couldn't hide anything from these guys, could I? He was certainly one of the first who'd been remotely nice about it.

He snapped his fingers. "I have an idea! I honed my English by listening to English songs. Maybe listening to this music will help to hone your Japanese? Would you like that?"

I thought for a minute about his proposal. The way I imagined it, getting wrapped up in the story of the century meant I probably wouldn't be able to look for other stories, in the meantime (why would I? I had a mother-lode on my hands). My hands had been tied. If I still wanted to remain productive somehow, I might as well brush up on my Japanese. Otherwise, I'd never catch a word these guys said.

I finally gave him the thumbs-up. "Why not? Crank it up, Matsui."

You should've seen him; he threw his arm up in the air and squealed, "Yaaaay!" Whereupon he immediately had to grab back onto the wheel before the car swerved off the road and crashed us into a streetlight. For a second there, I had to wonder if L really was trying to kill me by assigning me the most reckless driver. You know, make it look like an innocent fatal car crash?

I couldn't bring myself to hate old Matsui, though. He had a way of repelling any hostile feelings and reflecting them as sunshine. He treated me more like a buddy than a witness, which sure as hell helped to take my mind off of my wrongful captivity for most of the day. Anything to help me escape the situation for a while.

Not that I had anything against the other guys; I'm sure they were all right—with the exception of you-know-who, of course. I'm just saying that maybe, if we had more cops like Matsui, people would like them a little more.

He was helping me pack up whatever I could from my dorm after class when I figured that the ice had been broken beyond repair. So I asked him, "Hey, Matsui, what'd she do?"

"Huh?"

"What'd Amane do that made you guys arrest her?"

Matsui grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Elin, but that's classified information." We'd gotten so comfortable, I'd all but forgotten that he was still one of them.

"Oh. Well, if you ask me, it's stupid: Ryuzaki keeping me against my will and all. I don't really know what you're doing, and you guys won't tell me anything, so why not make it easier on everyone and just let me go?"

Matsui looked a little uncomfortable, all of a sudden. "It's not that simple, I'm afraid," he said as he lifted my bags into the trunk of the car. "The fact that you saw Amane's arrest makes things kind of problematic."

"Not my fault you did it in front of the school," I mumbled. "Anyone could've seen it. He might as well have 'invited' everyone who was out that day to 'dinner.'"

"And the fact that you know, er, who we are? Even more so."

I dropped in my share of luggage. "Again, not my fault. If he'd just left me alone, you wouldn't have to chaperone me all over the dumb campus when you could be doing something more, I dunno, productive, more detective-like. Just keep that in mind."

Matsui closed the trunk. "I don't mind, really. The way I see it, had Ryuzaki not caught you, we wouldn't get to be riding around, singing to the radio."

We split up to get around each side of the car. As we opened the doors, I said, "Hey, Matsui?"

He looked up. "Yeah?"

"…You're all right." I meant that, too. I might've tried to butter up now and then, but I never told somebody flat-out that they were all right if they really weren't. You shouldn't do that.

…

If I found any relief in this, I could be fairly certain that I wasn't a suspect. How did I figure this? Ever since L had brought me to the hotel, he hadn't once strapped me to a chair and interrogated me about where I was on the night of April eighteenth or any crap like that.

Turned out he was busy doing it to someone else.

About three days into my stay, sometime around the witching hour—eerily appropriate—I'd finally started to drift off to sleep when I sensed somebody next to me. Rolling over to flip on a lamp, I found myself, yet again, face-to-face with those same void-like eyes.

"Yo!"

No matter how times this had happened, I still had to jump six feet out of my skin. On top of that, I wound up rolling way the hell off the other side of the bed, sheets tangled around me like a disheveled cocoon. I don't know how, but somehow I managed to squeeze my way out of the knots—with no help from L, naturally—and settled in a kneeling position, my eyes blinking back the painful glare of the lamp light.

"What the hell're you doin' here?" I slurred. It's terrible when a guy creeps into your room while you're sleeping. Anything can be terrible, really, when it happens when you're in your PJs. "Get outta here!"

"Pardon the intrusion, but I need to speak with you."

I rubbed the sting out of my eyes with my knuckles. I had almost half the nerve to brain him with the pillow. "Speak? To me? What happened to talking through the laptop?"

He cocked his bed-head towards the door, one hand in his pocket, the other scratching the back of his head. "You weren't responding. Now, if you'll please come with me…"

I couldn't find the will to get up off my knees. My legs were numb. "Can't this wait until morning?" I growled.

"Technically, we are currently in the morning hours. 0:47 hours, to be precise."

...

"12:47 A.M., Miss Crocker. No, make that 12:48."

I shook my head. "Yeah well, last I checked, this wasn't a military base. And anyway, General Insomniac, I say it ain't morning 'til I see some sunshine. It's called sleep, man. Try it sometime; you might feel a little better." I bunched the sheets up into a sloppy ball and shoved them back onto the mattress. As soon as I dragged myself back up, I flopped down on the one side of the mattress, as far away from L as I could get, and made a fumbling, half-assed effort to unroll the sheets over me.

"G'night."

Even under the covers, I could feel his unnatural gaze digging into my back. I curled up into an even tighter ball.

"That's your cue to leave."

"Are you not going to turn out the light?"

"I sort of figured you would."

"Everyone is responsible for the appliances they turn on. They must be held accountable for their shutting down."

I groaned. It looked like he wouldn't leave until I turned off the light, so I forced myself to crawl out from under the sheets, a hand reaching lazily out in front of me for the lamp.

That's when his hand cuffed around my wrist, like a cobra striking out at an unsuspecting mouse.

"Hey!"

He started dragging me out of bed, the inconsiderate—

"This will only take a few minutes, then you can go back to bed," he told me, eyes fixed on the door left ajar.

"I wanna go back to bed, now! Come on, Ryuzaki, I got a test to take in the morning."

"I doubt a few minutes shaved off of your eight collective hours of sleep will affect your performance that much."

Oh, man! Was he going to take me out there where all the guys were? In my PJs? Now, it was one thing to walk around my house in my PJs with my dad and Farley around, but I couldn't say I was too fond of the idea of sitting around in my PJs in front of men I barely even knew. The strange thing was, though, that they were all knocked out around the room. Moji and Watari were nowhere to be seen, Asahi and Aihara had lurched back in their chairs, and Matsui had curled up on the couch.

He led me into a connecting room. Aside from a sterile white light and soft hum pouring from a TV, everything was totally dark and silent. When L turned around, the light formed a kind of eerie halo around the outline of his body, accentuating his Martian-like features. Like he'd just stepped off of the mother ship.

"Have a seat."

Just to defy him, I answered, "I'm cool with standing, thanks. Just tell me what's up so I can go back to bed, already."

"Very well." L climbed over into a sofa and assumed his monkey-crouch, hands cupped over his knees. I propped myself against the sofa behind him, arms folded over my chest. "Elin, can you still recall our last exchange?"

I snorted, "You mean the one from two minutes ago, when you dragged me out of bed? Yeah, I do. Vividly."

"Actually, I'm talking about our last interaction approximately a month ago. At the café. When I asked you about…the 'thing' you saw in the Ginza District."

That one, I also recalled vividly. In all the excitement, though, I'd sort of put it out of my consciousness until L had just brought it up. Coupled with the way the glow of the TV bleached out his already pasty complexion—now that he'd mentioned it, he looked more like that thing—I was at a loss for words when it hit me.

The one guy that had ever voiced any belief in my material…turned out to be the world's greatest detective. What an ego-booster, boy! I felt taller than the goddamn Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building combined! Or…I would have, or at least savored the feeling, if it weren't for just how messed up this whole thing was.

It felt like a draft had come in, all of a sudden, even though I was pretty sure all the windows were shut. I hugged myself tighter. "What about that?" was all I could manage.

"Please turn your attention to the TV. Tell me if the person you see looks anything like the girl you encountered before you spotted that thing."

I have no idea how I could've missed the image that assaulted my eyes, but when I did see it, it rattled whatever sleep I still had clean out of me.

That girl, the one I'd seen get arrested, Misa…she was strapped every which way against the wall like a crazy, hair in all disarray and blindfold over her eyes. Shackles kept her legs pinned in place, and stuffed in her mouth was a white rag. She hung limp from her restraints, as though bled dry of the life I'd seen her ooze out in the schoolyard before the cops had gotten a hold of her.

I had to cling to the sofa just to keep from falling over. All over again, the question screamed back and forth in my head: What HAVE I gotten myself into? And seriously, what room was the camera picking this up from?

What better way to deal with it than make it worse? "Wha—Ryuzaki! What the hell's that girl doing st-strapped up like that? Ah, here I've been, thinking you've been treating me inhumanely!" I meant it. Compared to what he was putting poor Misa through, he might as well have been giving me the royal treatment.

"She—she's not…she's not dead, is she? Pl-please tell me she's not dead."

"No need to worry; she's alive." He said that like it didn't really matter to him, either way. His apparent indifference on the whole thing gave me nasty chills. "As for why she is like this, I'm only doing what is necessary. Now, if we can get back to the matter at hand: does—"

"Uh-uh, no way, kid! How d'ya call this necessary? What'd she do to deserve to get tied up like that, huh? Witchcraft?"

I saw L start nibbling on his thumbnail. "That's none of your concern. Now please answer the question."

"Forget it. I-if you won't tell me what the hell's going on here, I won't break my neck to tell you squat." To show him that I meant that, I turned away to glare at the shadows flickering across the wall. I even motioned the way I did when I tipped my hat over my eyes, even though I wasn't wearing it at that moment.

Once my little puff of movie-star bravado ebbed, though, that's when I realized who I'd just barked at. Man-Brat had the power to put me in those same restraints, if he felt like it. If I wouldn't break my neck for him, he'd break it himself. Now that I'd seen just how far he was willing to go in getting whatever it was he wanted, it was a blue-eyed miracle he hadn't done exactly that, yet.

Hoping the darkness would obscure the color draining out of my face, I glanced over my shoulder back at him. I couldn't tell what he was thinking—of course—except that he was thinking at all. Pretty long and hard, too, by the way he bit down on his thumbnail.

I clenched the fabric of my nightshirt tighter in my fists. Her arrest had something to do with Kira, didn't it? Or at the very least, Kira was why they'd wanted to keep it a secret. But…what if it was more than that, by the way L had her bound and gagged?

…

I was really going out on a limb, here. My voice came out barely above a whisper: "What is she, a suspect? You think she's Kira, or something?"

L didn't take his thumb out of his mouth, but he told me, "Again, you amaze me with your ability to annoy."

"Not my fault you dragged me out of bed for this," I huffed, mostly to disguise how freaked out I'd gotten. "So…what? Am I right?"

"Partially."

I whirled all the way back around. "What do you mean, 'partially?' So this is the girl I bumped into before I saw the thing. But so what? Where's the connection?" I mean, come on. How did the fact that I'd talked to her before I'd seen the thing make her a psycho serial killer? Did the thing have something to do with this case, too? If so, what? For a detective, L sure as hell didn't make much sense. A little borderline-psychotic, himself, wasn't he? Crackpot.

Or maybe it wasn't so much that he wasn't making sense, as it was that he wasn't telling me something. A lot of things, actually. I didn't know, nor would I get my answers, now. All I was certain of was that I hated it all. I hated not knowing what was going on. I hated it when people lacked the courtesy to fill me in. Sure, I wasn't exactly a member of the team, but still!

L rose up from the sofa. "That's all I wanted. You can go back to bed, now, Elin." He didn't even bother to address my question.

"What about her? What have you been doing to her, sh-shouldn't you check on her? She looks terrible!"

"We already have. She is simply sleeping: exactly what you should be doing right now."

"Sleeping, with a rag in her mouth?"

Like I still felt like going back to bed, anymore. Oh yeah: nothing for the old brain like finding out there's a girl—never mind her celebrity status—bound and gagged somewhere in the same suite that you're sleeping in, on suspicions of being a mass murderer. The thought that the others were probably on board with that too didn't help any, to say the least.

"Starlet Suspected Of Being Serial Killer."

I felt like throwing up.

It only got worse when I noticed L leading me back to my room in almost the same way he'd dragged me out of it. "I can take myself back to bed, you know," I growled, struggling against him.

"Perhaps. But I'd like to make sure that that's the only place you're going," he said. No words of comfort, or nothing. Not that I really needed it, but it sure would've been appreciated. All he did was lead me in and walk back out, taking care to lock the door behind him before I could protest any further.

Before he did, though, he turned his head to tell me, "Be sure to turn out the light before you go to sleep."

In a slightly quieter voice, he added, "Good-night. Or good-morning, I suppose."


	7. Snap

"He can't do that. He can't do that to her, can he, Matsui?" I whispered. My head rested in my hands as my aching eyes scanned the print of the book lying open in front of me. I hardly had the energy to even keep my head up.

I could see from across the table that Matsui's face seemed just as clouded. He must not have liked what L was doing to Misa, either. Or maybe he was troubled by the possibility of one of his idols being a serial killer? I couldn't tell.

"It might not be right, but i-it's not like we have a choice. She's…you know." We couldn't mention names or words like "suspect" or "evidence" or "bondage," what with the two of us being in the school library and all, with all those kids walking around. I certainly didn't want any more innocent people getting wrapped up in this Kira PS.

"How could she? Does he even have…you know?"

"Yeah, he does."

"Like what?"

Matsui cupped a hand behind his head. "Uh, that's classified, too. Sorry."

I quickly checked all sides for a clear coast, dropping my voice even lower. "He'd better not be T-O-R-T-U-R-I-N-G her. He's not, is he? It hardly works, anyway, not if you really want answers. People will say anything to make you leave them alone. Look here, Matsu, say uncle."

"Huh?"

"Say uncle."

"Uh, why?"

I mustered enough strength to reach over to take his wrist and using my brother's example from when we were little, pinch a bit of flesh between my fingers just long enough for Matsu to whisper-yelp with his free hand over his mouth, "Ah, okay, okay! Uncle, uncle!"

I promptly let go, patting him in apology. "I'm really sorry for that. But that's my point. You said uncle to get me to stop twisting your arm, not on your own free will. Don't take a genius to figure that. Hell, even I would know that. That's just commonsense."

Something that L clearly lacked.

Matsui bit his bottom lip, either out of lingering pain, or from knowing things that I wasn't allowed to. Or both.

I pinched the spot between my eyes in a vain attempt to dull my headache. How could such a sweet girl be a mass murderer? Okay, so maybe there were killers out there that oozed superficial charm, but come on! A teen idol? A teen idol, for Christ's sake, who probably wouldn't know what to do with a gun if you gave her one! Or a knife, or a noose, or a drug, or a whatever-the-hell-Kira-used-to-commit-murder. And I couldn't say the guys' refusal to share this "evidence" they were supposed to have against Misa helped much to make me believe them.

Why would I think they'd share anything with me, anyway? I kept forgetting: I was just an outsider, an intruder, someone who wasn't even supposed to be there and was only there at all because the guy leading the investigation was a paranoid monkey-boy. Look, all I'm saying is that L had no right to put the girl through that kind of trauma, especially if they weren't even sure if she was guilty or not. If she turned out to be innocent…well, that would just make everything all the worse, wouldn't it?

Poor old Misa…I could see years and years of off-and-on the couch down the road for her.

But what lick of difference could I make about it? I was a nobody. All I was doing was pissing in the wind by complaining about it. To Matsui, too, the only one who'd listen, or at least it looked like he listened. What could he do about it, seriously?

Matsui tried to change the subject into something more "setting-appropriate." "So, um, how do you think you did on your test?"

"Not so well," I grumbled. That test I'd told L about? I wound up bombing it. It was a miracle that I still had the brains to even write my name, on account of what'd happened the night before. I swear, this whole Kira business was really starting to hurt my grades: biting them and infecting them with rabies. Kira hurt everybody somehow, but who would've guessed I would be so affected by him, as well?

What pissed me off was that it didn't have to happen, not like this.

Matsui frowned. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, genuinely apologetic. At least somebody cared. "I'm sure you'll get it next time. Hey, what're you reading there?"

I quick lifted up the book, using it to shield my face. "Nothin'. Just school stuff."

Matsui stretched his neck across the table. "I didn't know you were studying Japanese mythology." Why hadn't I thought about that, that he could tell what I was reading about from the cover? Man, I was losing it, big time.

I buried my face in the book's spine so he wouldn't see my face flushing out. "Uh…sure am! Why wouldn't I? I came over here to—oh, what do they say—'gain understanding and tolerance of other cultures,' and I guess mythology's one of those aspects I'm supposed to, uh, understand and tolerate. Let me just say right now, Matsui: Japan's mythology looks pretty colorful. Definitely worth immersing myself in."

"I'm glad you feel that way. I'll bet American mythology is interesting, too," my detective buddy chuckled. You should've seen the grin on his face; it made me feel kind of bad about lying to him, on top of anxious about whether he'd realize that.

No, I meant it when I said Japanese mythology was colorful. It really was, with all its ghosts and demons and monsters and whatnot, just like the watercolor pictures that accompanied them. They had this one water monster with a bowl for a head that had a thing for cucumbers, and spirits who liked to lick bathrooms, for Christ's sake. They also had shape-shifting animals, and plenty of demons who either ate corpses that were already corpses or sought out victims to turn into corpses, if you know what I mean. The Boogeyman had nothing on these bad boys. And those were just a few of the creatures I'd read about.

But I wasn't researching this stuff for my education's sake. Since that night, I couldn't stop thinking about Misa and the thing, and why L had seemed so interested in it, now that I'd found out who he really was. It seemed way too unlikely that monsters had anything to do with this case, but since no one would tell me anything, I figured, why not do a little investigating of my own? Really go out on a limb, you know?

I didn't come up with much. In fact, pretty much the one monster that sounded the most relevant to this situation was this thing called a "shinigami," a "death god." Well, actually, a "shinigami" wasn't so much a monster as a personification of death. In other words, it was the Japanese version of the Grim Reaper.

But even that made little sense, if not none. From what I gathered, people were supposed to die right after seeing the Grim Reaper. If that was Death itself that I'd seen, how could I still be alive? If it'd been after Misa, how could Misa still be alive? Plus, where was its scythe?

It didn't help that I couldn't take notes, either. L wouldn't let me bring any notes back to look at, which was pretty much why I'd had to stay behind after class to get in some study time. Borrowing his words, I'd had to pretty much "commit everything to memory." I know, stupid, right? L, not everybody had the memory of a goddamn elephant!

I slammed the book down on the table, practically making Matsui jump out of his seat. "Wh-what's wrong?" he asked me.

I flopped down on the table and hid my face in my arms. "Aw, nothin'," I mumbled, blinking hard to douse the burning in my eyes. "It's just life. It kicks your ass up and down the long, winding road. And then you die. But I'm sure you already knew that." I didn't feel like saying more than that. Besides, I wasn't lying. Life did kick my ass. What a shame that I couldn't kick back.

Matsui reached over to put a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, Elin…Erin…uh, hey, if you makes you feel better, we can stop on the way back to grab something to eat. Is that okay?"

I peeked up at him. I didn't really like unloading my angst on the poor guy, but like I said: he was the only one in the group that listened. I sure would've loved it if he could, but I didn't mind too much that he couldn't help me; I was grateful just to have his ear.

"Thanks, Matsui. Have I told you that you're all right?"

Matsui smiled. "Actually, yeah. A couple of times," he chuckled. "And you can bet the feeling is mutual."

…

"I mean, what's the bee in his underwear, anyway?" I hissed, stopping to take a sip of my soda, caffeinated to the gills. Confident—perhaps foolishly so—that this would only be between Matsui and me, I'd pretty much spent most of the ride back to the suite bitching about L. Or "Ryuzaki," as it were.

I stirred the ice around in the paper cup with the straw. "He keeps calling me a nuisance. It's like—it's like he likes going out of his way to let me know I'm intruding, while he conveniently forgets that it's his fault I'm here, in the first place. Hmph, I never called him that." Even when he deserves it…

Matsui's face kind of scrunched up, like he was looking for the right words to say about his superior. He worked under him, but he couldn't figure old L out any more than I could. Either that, or L kind of scared him. I didn't blame him, if that was the case. "I-it could be worse. He…could be calling you an idiot."

I looked up at him. "Does he do that to you?" I asked him with a twitch.

Matsui quickly placed his drink in the cup-holder. "Well, er, not really. Mostly I get that from the others," he said quietly, trying to keep his eyes on the road when they seemed more inclined towards his lap. "Like Aizawa. And maybe sometimes it's justified..."

"That's not right," I said. "Why do they gotta pick on us rookies, all the time? They used to be rookies too, once." An inexplicably devious smirk plucked at my lips. "I say we retaliate, somehow. Just something that'll teach 'em a lesson. What d'ya say, buddy? What d'ya say, buddy-roo?"

Matsui sucked in his cheeks. He probably didn't believe much in getting even. "Are you okay, Elin?"

I didn't really have a plan in getting back at the others. In fact, I don't even know why I made a suggestion like that at all, to be honest. You know how you can say things and mean it right when you say them, but then when the heat of the moment cools, you start wishing that you hadn't said it? I had a horrible habit of that. I think it was the caffeine talking, this time.

I felt my face go blank, almost as blank as L's, but not really. L was the king of blank stares. "I dunno," I admitted. "Define 'okay.'"

Matsui decided to turn on the radio, using our cherished foreign pop music to ease the tension in the car, if not cure it. He didn't like tension. That sort of made me wonder what he was doing as a cop, one of the tensest jobs there was.

"Matsui?"

He stopped singing along and turned down the volume to a more comfortable level. "Huh?"

"What made you decide to become a cop?"

He looked up at the sun roof of the car for a second, smiling to himself. "Why did I become a detective? Well…I guess it's because I've always wanted to be a hero. There's just something about catching bad guys and protecting people that's always attracted me, since I was a kid. We have a pair of katanas in our family that used to belong to one of my ancestors, who was a samurai. They're really old, like four hundred years or something."

I whistled, very impressed. On my side, I had a grampa who fought in World War II, an uncle who was in the Gulf War, and I recalled cousin Melanie voicing her considerations of going overseas. But no one had any cool swords to commemorate their valor, just medals. Not that they were lame or anything; they just weren't swords.

"I don't know if Ryuzaki would like it if I took you back to my parents' place, but if I can, I'll snap you a picture so you can still at least get to see them. It also helped that my dad used to be a cop himself who worked with the Chief, another role model of mine. He's retired, now, my dad. He and the Chief helped me get into this job. Although…I don't know how well it's been working out, so far. I'm less of a hero than a…well, um…"

"A screwball?" I improvised, and instantly wished I hadn't when I saw the blush of shame bleeding into his cheeks. Then I quick tried to butter over it: "I didn't mean that in a bad way, Matsui. I think that's pretty noble of you, wanting to be a hero and all. And if the others have a problem with that…well, they can kiss your ass. You'll get your chance to shine, someday, I bet so."

That's more than what I can say for how things are working out for me…

I rested my head on the cushion. "Just be sure to jump on the opportunity when you see it, or it might not come back. Believe me. I know."

"Thanks, Elin." Matsui looked back and forth. Then he said even softer, "Between you and me, sometimes I think that's why Kira does what he does. He wants to be a hero, too. Ah, n-not that I'm condoning murder, of course! I'm really not."

"Chill, Matsui. You're among friends…or, a friend, I guess." I meant that. I bet he'd gotten in trouble before with that kind of mind-set on Kira, while his coworkers were all clearly Anti-Kira. Me, I didn't know this Kira character well enough to form a fixed opinion on him yet: whether he was right or wrong, I mean. But on the approval meter, the needle leaned more towards the red, mostly because had the jerk never come up with the brilliant idea to kill criminals, I might not have gotten tangled up in this.

Kind of narrow-minded of me, as I look back on this. It didn't help that Kira sounded pretty scary, not the type you'd want to run into in a dark alley.

Definitely didn't help that Kira could be anyone, alley or no alley.

Soon we reached the driveway back to our "headquarters." Looking out the window, I spotted this boy walking up to the entrance, a pretty good-looking boy, at that. Tall, fair, neat, light brunette—

Huh? Wait a minute.

I squinted through the dark-tinted glass. "Hey, Matsui. Isn't that Light Yagami, from school? What's he doing here?"

"Oh my God!" I didn't expect him to say that. Matsui slammed the brakes, all of a sudden. Had I not had my seat belt on, I might've flown right out through the windshield.

"What's the matter?" I gasped, one hand gripping my hat, the other clenching my sloshing drink. I didn't like seeing him so panicky, especially since I didn't know what the problem was.

Matsui was already fumbling around with the seat belt buckle. "Uh, Elin, listen, you better stay in the car. I-I need to go check this out."

"Why? What's going on?"

Matsui clenched his teeth in panic as he stumbled out of the car. "I can't say, I-I'm sorry! J-just stay in the car, please! I'll be right back!" He slammed the door behind him and took off as though the concrete was on fire under his feet, leaving me with only the humming radio for company. I watched him disappear into the building with Light.

I didn't stay there long. Guess what I did as soon as I was sure the two of them had gone? Yep, I got out of the car. Look, I liked Matsui and all, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel at least a little guilty about defying him (and in retrospect, I probably could have used that chance to try to escape), but see, I liked knowing what the hell was going on even more. I was still a journalist; it was in my blood.

I think the caffeine had something to do with it, too.

I followed them, all the way up the building: twenty-some gorgeous floors. Almost killed myself getting up there. Naturally, when they took the elevator, I took the stairs, my heart racing in a mix of raging curiosity, apprehension, and sugar. I kept asking myself: what's Light doing here? And why did Matsui wig out like that? 

It was like a round of Tom and Jerry™: if either of them even looked like they were about to look over their shoulder, I'd duck way back before following them a little further, heaving through my nostrils since my lungs had pretty much shriveled into the size of apricots in my chest at that point.

When they finally reached the suite where L and the others were, I let them get inside and shut the door behind them. Then I followed suit, stopping by the doors to kneel in front of the knob, fighting to steady my breath, even stopping it, if I had to. My face became clammy with sweat.

I pulled my hat down in anticipation as I pressed my ear tight against the wood. I could hear what they were saying, and when I did, I briefly wondered whether Matsui's music idea had been a good one, after all.

Was I hearing this right?

"…I could be Kira."

Did Light just out himself as…Kira?

Boy, old Asahi sounded like he was choking. I heard his feet storming over to Light. "No, Light! What are you talking about? Why would you even say something like that? Why?"

"Look Dad, if Ryuzaki is L, it's safe to say that he's the world's best detective. And right now, he thinks I'm Kira, and we know he's never been wrong before." There was something pained about the way Light said that, like he was really opening his veins to confess his crimes, albeit indirectly. Whatever those might've been.

"Wh-what are you saying, Light? Stop this!" pleaded Asahi, whom from up until that point, I'd never heard so choked up. Wait…so Asahi was Light's dad? I knew it! They were all using aliases! Asahi's real last name must've been Yagami, then. But that didn't shake me nearly as much as finding out his real relationship to Light. That, and how his boy kept prattling on about things that incriminated him: things alien to my knowledge that might've flown clean over my head if it weren't for just how intriguing it all sounded.

"Think about it. What about that FBI agent, Raye Penber? It was me he was investigating immediately before he died. And I was in Aoyama on May twenty-second, and the one who Misa Amane, the alleged Second Kira, first approached in the Kanto region. It's all been me. If I were in L's shoes, I would've come to the same conclusion."

Maybe, if the monkey-boy even wore shoes, to begin with. 

"Subconsciously…I might be Kira. If that were the case, I could be him and not even know it." Wow. Just, wow. I never expected such PS to spew out from a guy like Light Yagami, especially since it was so, I don't know, uncalled for?

"No, Light..."

"I'm...I'm not sure of anything, anymore," Light said quietly. "I'd never kill someone, but unconsciously, who knows what I'm capable of? I could be killing people in my sleep."

Never up until that point had sleepwalking sounded so terrifying to me.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," I heard L say, his first line since this conversation had started.

"Huh? Not possible? What do you mean?"

"I never mentioned this to you, but at one point, I had installed hidden surveillance cameras in your room for five days."

Hold on: going by everything I'd heard so far, did this mean that Light had been working with these guys? He already knew L and all…?

Also, apparently L's paranoia wasn't limited to me. He did that to everybody, even to people he worked with.

"Cameras?" breathed Light. I didn't blame him. In fact, I couldn't help but applaud him a little, for handling that so well. I know I wouldn't have.

I heard L take a sip—slurp of tea. No matter where he was, he was impossible to miss when he had food with him. "Yes. You slept normally, every single night. Criminals whose names were broadcast were still dying, even though you would've had no way of knowing about them. But this didn't prove your innocence to me; merely that if you were Kira, you would not give yourself away on camera." He said all this like camera-stalking someone was as normal of a hobby as bird-watching or something. That cracked me up.

"I wouldn't reveal myself on camera, huh? Hm…I don't know, that could be true. I have to admit, sometimes I've found myself thinking that some criminals deserved to die. If I can think like Kira, then how can I be sure that I'm not actually him?"

Just when I'd started to wonder where Matsui was in all of this, I heard him step up: "Hold on, Light! I feel exactly the same way. Sometimes I've thought that certain people would be better off dead…but that doesn't mean we'd really go out of our way to kill them. Right?" Huh, and they called him an idiot. My thoughts, exactly, buddy. Everyone has felt like they hate a guy's guts, but more often than not, people didn't usually act on those urges to string them up with their own guts. At least, I never had.

"Besides, criminals were still dying, even when you had no knowledge of them. The cameras proved this! Didn't they?"

Then Aihara spoke up with the pin to burst Matsui's bubble. "Well, no. Because we were short of investigators then, we could only watch him while he was at home. We couldn't watch him every hour of the day. So Light could've found a way to kill those criminals while he wasn't at home."

A lethal silence fell on the other side of the door, which kind of freaked me out because silence usually preceded the part where the guys would get out of the room and find me kneeling here. I had the experience to establish that. Maybe I should've stayed to hear more, but for once in a blue moon, I actually did something smart.

I took off. I got up quietly enough, walked a little in a cool, kind of fox-like way. Then, as soon as I was a safe distance away, I took off like a maniac, all the way down those twenty-some gorgeous floors (and once again, almost killing myself on the way).

I couldn't afford an ounce of relaxation until I'd reached the parking lot and clamored back into the passenger's seat of Matsui's car. As soon as I crashed back down into the seat, I started heaving into a fast food bag, from that joint we'd stopped at to eat. It helped. I mean, a little. Only in the car could I try wrapping my mind around everything I'd just heard, and the more I thought about it, the harder I heaved. I kept stealing glances out the window to see if Matsui was around. I didn't want him to see me like this.

Extra, extra! "Top To-Oh Dog Claims To Be Kira!" What a plot twist! And Misa…Light said that she's suspected of being a 'Second Kira'…what, does that mean she's the copycat I heard about? Christ, it's just one bombshell after another… 

Plus, the bigger and more terrifying this story got, the more I kicked myself over being unable to tell anyone about it. I could never emphasize that enough.

Matsui didn't come back for a pretty long time. No wonder: he and the guys were probably busy doing to Light what they were doing to Misa. I wondered how Mr. Yagami was going to take that…would he allow it?

Oh, what kind of wingding would go up to his teammates and tell them, "Hey, I think I might be Kira," anyway, especially to another wingding like L? No, I didn't know Light, but he'd looked a little smarter than that…or at least saner.

Ugh. I hated it when I didn't get things. I felt like I was going to blow. So I did, into the paper bag, of course.

Finally, Matsui came back. When I saw him coming, I quick threw the bag on the floor and pushed a couple stray hairs behind my ears; you know, clean myself up some. Like I didn't just run up thirty-something floors and back to hear something I wasn't supposed to. I didn't like the look he had on: he looked kind of sallow, like he was going to be sick or something. He looked like he'd gotten a serious lashing.

Should I have asked him what the matter was? I mean, he'd probably try to sidestep around the issue, and it wasn't like I didn't already have an idea.

I rolled down the window. "Matsui! Hey, buddy, where've you been? What happened to Light?"

Matsui propped himself up by an arm against the frame of the car door. He sighed, "Oh, man. I'm sorry. You weren't really supposed to know about Light's involvement in this, but…now that you've seen him, I'm not sure how to cover that."

I waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah, I'm not s'posed to know anything. But that's what Ryuzaki gets for not letting me go home. This could've all been avoided if he'd just let me go home."

"Are you feeling okay, Elin? You look kind of sick."

I tried to feign innocence. "Who, me? Oh, don't mind me. I'm just a little car-sick, is all."

Matsui peeked into the window, clueless as can be. "C-car-sick?"

"Yup. I get kind of queasy when I'm sitting in a car and the car's not in motion."

He raised his eyebrows, like I'd just introduced him to a revolutionary concept. "When the car's not in motion?"

"What can I say?" I said, pointing my fingers in all directions to prove my point. "I'm sort of a go-go-go-go type-girl. You know how it is."

…

Nobody said a word when we came in. Aizawa and Mogi were gone, and Mr. Yagami had sunken into a chair, his head wedged in his hands. I couldn't begin to grasp the depth of frustration and pain he must've been in. That didn't mean I didn't feel bad for him, though. I felt sorry as hell, in fact.

I wished I could've done something to comfort him, but the atmosphere of the room wouldn't allow comfort, especially not with L around. The guy was like an emotional black hole.

"What's up, guys?" I asked. Something told me that it'd be a lousy idea to mention Light or ask anything about him. Although I guess asking what was up wasn't much better. Save for Matsui, I couldn't have a normal conversation with any of them, could I?

L was sitting in his usual crouch, working on another cup of tea. "How did your test go?" he asked, not looking back at me. His eyes were fixed on the blank screen in front of him. He must've turned the visual off so I wouldn't see what he'd done to Misa and Light.

The grin I'd worked so hard to maintain suddenly shriveled away. Why did he have to remind me of that? I don't even know why he cared. Either he was trying to use red herring to distract me from the Misa and Light issue, or he was a sadist who liked listening about my failures. Eh, maybe both?

"Aw, maybe I didn't do as well as I would've liked," I said with a shrug, "but not bad enough to get me kicked out of the class."

Sluuuurp. 

"That's too bad. Perhaps if you had put more effort into your studying…"

Aw, why, you little...that's it! C'mere! 

I don't know why I did what I did next. I probably still had some residual caffeine in the system, or maybe I was still shaken up about Light. Or maybe I'd just had it up to here with L's PS. Could've been a combination of the three. No, I didn't punch him or anything. I did something worse.

I gave L a noogie.

That's right: got him in a headlock and dug the heel of my hand into his scalp, something I used to do with Farley back at home when we were being stupid. I didn't think he had a scalp underneath all that hair, which also astonished me. His hair had always looked so grimy and prickly to me that I was first amazed by how soft and clean it actually was.

Yeah, you want crumpets with that tea, Fuzzy?

Then the bigger picture settled in. No, I wasn't worried about his hair; it couldn't get any more messed up even with my help. It was just that…well…

I was giving the world's greatest detective a noogie. Need I say more? I mean, he kind of looked like the type who asked for a noogie, just by being, but I guess that didn't do much to justify what I did, did it? I might as well have been throwing peanuts at a lion.

As soon as I realized what I was doing, I stopped cold. I was waiting for lightning to strike me dead.

When nothing happened, I started trying to frantically smooth out his hair, which I guess was kind of pointless because I couldn't smooth it out even if I'd poured cement over it. It'd just grow right through the cracks.

"Gah! I'm—I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I really am! Look, i-it's just kind of been a lousy day, and—and—uh…" Why didn't I just get down on my knees, while I was at it?

L had somehow managed to hold his tea cup out at arm's length while I'd been administering the noogie. He peered up at me. If I'd pissed him off, he did a terrific job at hiding it. In fact, he looked kind of curious when he looked up, in an almost child-like kind of way.

"That is an interesting wrestling hold," he muttered. Like he had no idea what I'd just done to him and was actually intrigued by it.

I quick took my hands off his head. "Wh-what, you mean you've never gotten a noogie, before?"

Think about it, Erin: you have to have friends in order to get at least one noogie, or at least a social life. Or a life in general. 

I had to admit, the concept of lacking a social life was a little hard to wrap my mind around.

He put his tea down and pressed a thumb up to his lips. "So that is what that's called…a noogie?" He tried the word out for himself. I'd never thought much about how the word sounded up until that point, but just by hearing him say it, it had a funny ring to it, almost uncomfortable.

I decided to get out of there, fast. I stretched my arms and yawned. "Well, I guess I better go back to my room, then. A little T.V. should do my brain some good."

After the day I'd had, I could use all the TV-brand brain-rotting I could get. I was all but snuffed. They weren't going to tell me what was going on, anyway. I looked back at Matsui, who had this look on his face that told me that what I'd just done was either pretty brave or pretty stupid. Maybe both, except more stupid than brave, but pretty brave, nevertheless. Having already done something smart a while earlier, I'd had to go right back and do something dumb, to make up for it.

Or maybe he was amazed that L hadn't done anything to me in retaliation. My feelings, exactly.

Before I could leave the room, though, L said something that made me feel like I'd just been bitten in the ass: "You know, Elin, the next time someone on the team tells you to stay put, you should stay put. Have I not already told you that you would be in no danger if you would just cooperate?"


	8. Family

It all went downhill from there. This is probably going to sound selfish, but it was starting to feel awfully strange, creepy, nauseating, to go to school with three strangers locked up in the same suite I was staying in. I couldn't do or say anything about it, but I figured that at least I should've known what was going on, so I looked to Matsui for details. Not about everything, but into any further developments in the investigation.

Take Mr. Yagami, for instance. Right after they started Light's confinement, I noticed that he'd vanished. Had he taken a leave of absence or something? No, that didn't sound right. Mr. Yagami didn't look like the type to take leaves, especially not when it came to his son.

The others looked kind of torn up, for some reason. With the exception of L, of course. He never got torn up about anything. Really. You could probably tell him that his mother had gotten pecked to death by rabid pigeons, and he wouldn't even bat an eyelash. Or maybe he'd just tell you that "that's impossible; pigeons can't become rabid. Rabies is a neuroinvasive disease that primarily infects mammals." Yeah. As long as he had his junk food and the facts, he couldn't care less.

On the way to school, I somehow found it in me to ask Matsui, "What happened to Asahi? I haven't seen him around, lately. Or is that something else I'm not supposed to know?"

Matsui bit his lower lip. His brown eyes, usually brightened with his carefree attitude, were dulled with anxiety as they stayed trained on the road. He swallowed. "The Chief's gone into confinement."

"Uh…the 'Chief?'"

"Well, technically, Ryuzaki's the one leading our investigation, but Asahi is still the Chief in my head. He made us put him into confinement."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why would he want you to do that?"

Matsui peered into the rear-view mirror, his face crumpling as though he were remembering something awful. "Of course, since we're holding Light as a prime suspect, the Chief hasn't been taking it very well. He said…that he couldn't find a way to stay objective to the case. That he…wouldn't know what he'd be capable of if we'd ever end up convicting Light…"

I thought back to Mr. Yagami's reaction to Light's little impromptu self-outing: how he'd practically begged his son to take back everything he'd said. I couldn't recall ever seeing or hearing him lose it as badly as he had, then. Like I said, I couldn't quite wrap my mind around the depth of the pain he must've felt. But that didn't keep my heart from going out to him. He'd probably stay in confinement until it looked crystal-clear that Light was innocent. He seemed like a pretty passionate guy: as a detective, and as a dad. I liked that.

But now that passion was working against him. "He wouldn't know what he was capable of." What did he mean by that? That Mr. Yagami would do something crazy if they concluded that his son was Kira? I shuddered just to take a guess. I think that was my problem: I'd see hardcore stuff like that all the time on the movies and think nothing of it, except how cool it all looked. Seeing it unfold right in front of me, in the here and now…well, all I could say was that it sure as hell didn't feel cool in real life.

Movies: they can ruin you. When you'd been a fan of them for as long as I'd been, the reality behind them could leave you punch-drunk.

Oh man, I hoped L would go easy on the old man in his confinement. I felt that having his son as a prime suspect was torture enough. My eyes burned, the more I thought about it, because L would do no such thing.

When I noticed how Matsui was looking at me, I quickly rubbed the pending tears back with my knuckles, the sob coming out as a snort. God, I could be such a crybaby, sometimes, it wasn't even funny. It shouldn't have been funny. But I'd been teaching myself how to hide it from other people, and I liked to think that I'd gotten good at it…a little. After all, there was a line between being open and looking downright wimpy. That's what I'd always believed, anyway. Nobody took a crybaby seriously.

"Tired, I'm just tired. Aren't we all? So…how long do you think this is going to go on? 'Til Ryuzaki thinks that Light and Misa are innocent, I guess?" Something that I doubted would ever come to pass, because once he hatched an idea in his crazy head—or in Light's case, if you threw him an idea he liked—he wouldn't let go of it, not even if you stuck dynamite in his crummy ears and tried to blow it to smithereens.

But…why Light, anyway? Why Misa? Of all the nutsoes in the triple-W (whole wide world) to pick from, why them?

"Probably. But it'll be pretty hard to convince Ryuzaki of their innocence. I'd think that the only way he could be convinced would be…" He trailed off. The "classified information" excuse was rolling in, I could feel it. And frankly, I was getting sick of it.

"You can tell me, Matsui. It's not like I can sell it to anyone on the outside for a quick buck. Besides, even if you shut up, I'd just find out on my own, somehow." I rested my head back on the seat. "I can't believe that's not good enough to convince Ryuzaki to let me go home." Honestly. I thought I was starting to see a pattern, here. The longer I stayed with these guys, the more I'd find out things; the more things I'd find out, the more I'd know; the more I'd know, the more L must've felt compelled to keep me around; and the longer he kept me around, the more I'd find things out; the more I'd—

Ahem! Yeah, it just kept going in a circle. Didn't L know that? Huh, maybe he did know that. In fact, maybe, for some messed-up reason of his, he'd set it up that way, just to have an excuse to keep me around longer. I didn't know for sure. My brain was broken. If he cared so much about secrecy, why didn't he just make it easier on himself and rub me out? Ah, not that I wanted to be rubbed out, understand! All I'm saying is—

Ugh. See? My brain wasn't just broken. It was busted. I had to wonder if that was L's intention, too.

I let Matsui do the sighing. "Well…suppose the killings continue while Light and Misa are in confinement? Maybe that would convince Ryuzaki? Maybe. Uh, not that I want people to keep dying! I don't! I just…um…" He quick re-focused on the road before he could end us up in a fender-bender with the guy braking in front of us.

I knew what he was going to say. He didn't want Light to be guilty, is all. Or Misa.

Neither did I. I wanted Kira caught and all, but I didn't exactly want to accept the possibility of those two kids being him. I saw no reason why they should be.

But for the moment, all that the two of us could do was sing the dread away to our foreign pop blasting on the radio, wait and see.

…

They stopped.

For the next couple of weeks, everything fell into a standstill. New criminals had been featured on the news, but none of them died. Not a one. Naturally, things weren't looking too good for Light and Misa.

I really wanted to believe that that was strictly coincidence. As soon as those two get locked up, Kira happens to take a break. That sounded kind of dumb, I know, especially since, considering his supposed motive, Kira didn't sound like the type to want to just drop everything and go on vacation. Unless he got tired or something. I didn't count on him to be an actual god so in my head, he would lack the stamina of such—

Yeah. In my position, I was pretty much trying to rationalize it, in every way I can. I think everyone else was, too. Except L, of course. He may have been the "world's greatest detective" and therefore a logic whiz, but I couldn't say being rational was his thing. There's a difference, you know. At least, I'd always thought so. I mean obviously, or else he wouldn't be flipping the bird at the law and go around kidnapping people and holding them against their will. Possibly torturing them while he was at it.

Well, I hadn't actually seen him do it, and frankly I didn't want to think that he did. But isn't that what he'd been doing to me the whole time just by taking my freedom, my privacy?

Hmm…I guess Watari was no saint either, for going along with it.

"All in the name of justice."

Sure.

…

Oh, what the hell is "justice" anyway? I thought I knew once—admittedly because I'd never given it much thought, serious thought, I mean—but since I'd gotten wrapped up in this whole Kira mess, I realized how clueless I really was to the concept. This conflict between Kira and L didn't help that, to say the least. All I could think about was how much I wanted to get out of this.

Or at the very least, talk to my family. I didn't know how long it'd been since I'd last shot them an E-mail. Two, three weeks? It must've been too long, because I was starting to feel antsy about it. Were they worried about me? Pfft, of course they would be. Whether L would let me send them a message though, wasn't as clear.

Bee-beep. 

"Yes, Miss Crocker?" 

I still hated my alias. But hearing even Watari use it, I guessed it would do me no good to fight about it, anymore. L said, "You are Elin Crocker," and I was Elin Crocker. (The Big Book of PS, 12: 50).

"Hey, Gram—Watari. Listen, do you think maybe I could send an E-mail? One tiny-teeny E-mail to my folks back at home?"

"I don't think that's possible, at the moment, Miss Crocker." 

I practically face-palmed. "Why not? Ryuzaki said I could talk to them under the conditions that I'd be monitored. Did he change his mind on that and not bother to tell me, or what?" I poked a finger at the Cloister Black "W" in the middle of the screen. "Look, I know you don't care, but I've got a family back in the States who…I kind of miss, and I think it's safe to assume that they miss me, too. And come on, I think it'd look kind of bad if after all those messages I'd sent them, I'd suddenly stop talking to them, altogether. Don't you think?"

That was something that I was proud to call a diplomatic argument, for me, anyway. If I hadn't cursed the guy out, then I liked to think I was being reasonable.

"I understand that. But you in turn must understand that we are only taking the precautions necessary to keep information from leaking to the outside." 

My hand clenched into a quivering fist on the table. It took whatever cool I still had not to pound it against the surface. "Well then, you should've left me alone in the first place! Listen, what if I didn't use any of your computers to send them an E-mail with? I have a laptop; I can use that if you've got some dumb paranoid idea that the E-mail will be traced or something. Is that it? Huh?"

What could I say? Diplomacy and I were estranged cousins, three times removed.

I had a laptop, but L had confiscated that as soon as I'd brought it over from my dorm. He wouldn't let me use any personal electronics. I had to use theirs, like the lights, the laptop through which to talk to Watari, and the TV, which a short while earlier, I'd vaguely considered throwing out the window, just to have something to do. Except if I had no TV, then what would I have left to fend off the demon boredom? Besides, when I wasn't out with Matsui, it was the only medium I had through which to keep practicing my Japanese.

"Go on, ask Ryuzaki. He'll listen to you, probably. He's not doing anything special, is he?" From whatever I could see of him, he'd stayed fixed in that same old monkey-couch in the same old chair, watching Light and Misa and Mr. Yagami sit around in their cells like they'd break out the nail files as soon as he'd turn his head, even though he had Matsui and Aihara watch with him and everything. In fact, the only thing that differed each time was what kind of sweet was set out in front of him to toy with.

Did the guy even get up to use the toilet? Or did Watari somehow have to do that for him, too?

"Very well. I will consult Ryuzaki on this matter. Bear with us, please." 

Hey, I've bore all I could and more, old man, and it's not getting me anywhere…

Soon, the Cloister Black "L" dominated the screen with a woo-woo. "What is it?" Like he didn't already know.

I pushed a little hair back behind my ear. "Ryuzaki, hey, sorry, I know you're busy and all, but I want to send an E-mail to my family, just to let them know that I'm alive and everything." Imagine that: having to ask some stranger if you can talk to your family, detective or otherwise. Especially when it looked like he would say no.

"What d'ya say?"

"Persistent, aren't you? Perhaps it would be different if you were say, a hostage, but I see no need to contact your family if we are not threatening your life." I wasn't so sure about that. I could never tell with the guy but he had made a few implications…which I could have taken the wrong way but how could you know for sure with L?

Aw, you're cracking my nuts here, man! "Come on, I swear I won't say anything about you or the case! They wouldn't believe me anyway. I'll even use my own laptop if you haven't already destroyed it or something, so they can't, uh, trace it back to you. Or whatever." Why the hell would he think that, anyway, that they'd trace the E-mail? Did his paranoia know no limits?

"Look, you know how it is: you got a family, you go abroad, they miss you, they want to know what you're up to, they wig out when they don't know…you know?"

When he didn't answer me right away, I started to feel strange. He did know what that was like, right? I mean, didn't everyone?

"Ryuzaki? You there?"

"Yes. And I can't say that I do know." 

"Why? Don't you talk to your folks? Or are you too busy solving all the world's problems to ring them up, once in a while?" Or just too freakin' paranoid.

 

I would end up regretting I'd ever asked that.

"No. I have never had family to talk to over long distances. Perhaps I couldn't estimate the worth of such exchanges." 

...

That came out of nowhere. Now it was my turn to fall silent. Seriously, what on earth could I say to that? That L: he had a knack of leaving you at a loss for words.

I just shut the laptop. Probably not the most mature response, I realize, but what else could I do, sit there like a dumb monkey while trying to come up with something appropriate to say? As soon as I shut it, I found myself flopping on my bed, face-up, mind you. If I did it face-down, that would mean that I was going to start crying, which I had no intention of doing.

I sure didn't feel good, though; I felt kind of fogged up, the way I felt when I thought I'd just heard something awful and didn't want to believe it. L had just told me he had no family…I think. That was what I heard, but did he mean it like that? That he actually had no family? Like a—like an orphan or something?

Family. They drove me bonkers sometimes—okay, they drove me bonkers often, and I can't say I haven't done the same to them—but they loved me, I loved them and I'd much rather have people that drove me crazy on a regular basis than no one at all. The concept of the lack thereof was alien to me, opposite-side-of-the-galaxy kind of alien. That was stuff you'd find in old literature. You wouldn't hear about it that much in this day and age except maybe on the news, and even then it'd sound unreal to me. Everybody has to come from somewhere. No one's a cartoon character some looney drew up one day and didn't even bother to give a past.

Maybe he was just lying? Oh, why would he go say something like that and with such a straight face? To make me feel bad, somehow?

Stupid as this might sound, I think it worked. Kind of. But even if it kind of worked, it still worked. Who was I trying to kid? But then, with everything that was going on pretty much anything could make me upset.

I don't know how long I lay there staring at the ceiling, mulling over what L had said, but sooner or later, I heard the doorknob jiggle.

Click. 

Somebody was shuffling in. A slight propping-up revealed the visitor to be none other than old L. He had my laptop wedged under his arm, his no-doubt sticky hands buried in his pockets. Now what did he want?

"It's called knocking first, Ryuzaki," I grumbled. "You might want to make a habit of it; it'll save you a lot of trouble in the future if you do." I don't know why I bothered. He was L. He did whatever the hell he wanted.

He set my laptop down on the table, next to his. Then he kind of loomed over and stared at me with that same old, unblinking deadpan look of his, finger hooked into his lower lip.

As discretely as possible, I tried to inch away. "What?"

"You've been crying." He didn't say that in a mocking tone per se, more as a dry observation than anything else.

I touched my cheek.

Oh, shit. Sure enough, it was wet. I'd been crying and hadn't even noticed. Soon, I was wiping my face raw and dry with my knuckles. "Ah, what're you talking about? I'm not crying. It's just…uh…my allergies! Yeah, my allergies are acting up!" I even sat up so I could prove to him how well I (would've liked to have) felt. "You know, pollen? I got a thing with pollen," I sniffed.

He didn't buy it. "We're not in season. And you have no known allergies. Your medical records indicated nothing of the sort." He rubbed his right bare foot against his left ankle. "Besides, if you had allergies wouldn't you be taking medication for it?"

I felt like I'd just been punched in the gut. He…he'd looked at my medical records? The most personal, most revealing records I could ever have, and he looked at them like he would, a magazine? God, was nothing sacred to this jerk? I bet he'd accessed them illegally too. Even I wasn't that nosy!

Now I had absolutely nothing to say; the lump in my throat had cut me off. It took all the brains I still had just to keep from gawking. I might as well have been buck-naked. I couldn't say L's staring helped anything. He looked like he was going to do something really out there, like dab my eyes and then lick the tears off of his fingers and say, "Mm, yes, your anguish energizes me."

He did no such thing. What he did do though was almost just as out there if not more, at least for him. First, he grunted to himself. Then he started looking around the room in that absentminded way of his that belied the allegedly powerful mind sitting in his dome. When his eyes fell on the bathroom, he started shuffling his way over to it. All I could do was watch him, blinking to ease the soreness in my eyes.

A moment later, he came out with his fingers pinching the slot of a tissue box. L placed the box by my feet, then he stepped back to go right back to staring at me. His expression remained blank.

I had almost half the nerve to knock the tissue box onto the floor, but I didn't. I was too surprised about this sudden gesture. What was this, some kind of backwards test of his? Or was he honestly trying to offer me tissues in his own half-assed way?

That was what I found the most frustrating about L: I had no idea where the hell I was with him. As soon as I start to establish what a creep and a brat he is, he turns around and does something…nice? Could I call it "nice?" I doubted he'd done this yet for Misa or Light or Mr. Yagami. Besides, if he really was a nice guy he'd have let me go.

Either way, he kept me guessing. I didn't know for sure, but part of me thought he might've done that on purpose. He always had to defy expectations.

Then there was that thing he'd said, about having no family. Of course, that shouldn't have excused his jerkiness, but for some reason, I couldn't get that out of my head. The way he'd mentioned it, you'd have thought it was the most normal thing in the world.

At first, I wouldn't move a muscle. Then—I don't know why, I don't even think my head was in on it at that moment—I reached a wary hand towards the box and plucked a tissue to blow my nose with, as quietly as I could, without much avail. I never blew my nose; I trumpeted.

"Uh…thanks. I guess," was all I had to say on that as I dropped the snot-rag into the wastebasket by the table.

"I find crying unnecessary, especially since that was not the reaction I intended to induce when I said I didn't have family to talk to."

"Who said I was crying about that?" I blurted.

L scratched the back of his head, being all kinds of lazy. "I assumed that you cut me off because I'd upset you. I wasn't trying to upset you. I was just stating a fact." I found something off with that statement, like he really didn't notice anything inherently wrong with what he'd just told me besides the fact that it'd shaken tears out of me for some unfathomable reason.

Huh. Was there actually something that the Great L couldn't fathom?

"No, no, I was just…uhm…well, it wasn't about that. Per se. That's all you have to know, thank you very much."

L pried my laptop open. For a moment more, neither of us said and did anything. With L, everything had to be awkward. Then:

"It was my understanding that you wanted to send your family a message?"

I didn't know whether to feel relieved or stay on guard. "Y…you're really gonna let me do that after all?"

"Yes. Under the condition that I will be monitoring you, of course."

I didn't ask him about whether he was telling the truth about his family, or lack thereof. I don't think he would've been too straight with me in his answer. I found it a blue-eyed miracle that L had ultimately decided to let me do this. The least I could do was not squander it.

What's up, guys! 

Hey, it's me! Sorry if I haven't been speaking to you as much lately, don't worry about it, I'm doing all right. Japan's a pretty hectic place (not much different than New York, I guess), and I've been kind of weighed down with school work. Farley, you think college is rough over there? Here in Japan, they really bust your ass. Yeah, they're pretty serious about their education. 

It's okay, though. At least here, I've always got something to do, things to see, people to meet, stories to find. I think I'm gonna go check out that mountain, Fuji, when I get the time. Imagine all the photo ops up there! 

Still missing all of you, of course. I'll bet it's gotten boring at home since I left! Ha! 

I love you guys. 

Later! Or as they say here in Japan: Sayonara, suckers!

~Erin

"There, that good enough?" I asked him. Sure, I was grateful to have gotten the chance to send this E-mail, but I couldn't say I was too fond of having a stranger examine every word I'd typed. That's personal stuff. But like I said earlier, nothing was sacred in L's eyes.

Also when he'd told me that I'd be monitored, I hadn't known that "monitor" meant crouching on the bed, arching over my shoulder as his eyes stayed trained on the string of words popping up on the screen, his thumb pushing the corner of his mouth, making his lower lip protrude so far out that he looked a little like an exasperated Grover™. Literally breathing down my neck, he was about a hair away from touching my cheek, but not quite. It made every nerve on the entire half of my body stand up on end like hairs underneath a balloon rubbed up with static electricity. To say the least, it was hard to concentrate on coming up with something passable for everyone.

Too bad I couldn't push him away. All I could do was ignore the feeling and keep typing. I couldn't say how awful I felt about not telling them the truth. I knew it couldn't be helped, but I still felt awful. In fact, this entire experience helped me to gain an appreciation for the old cliché, "Truth is stranger than fiction."

He didn't answer me right away. My heart fluttered in apprehension as I fought the urge to wring my hands.

Finally he told me, "Mm, yes, this should suffice." Then he added, "Please do not get the idea that you will be allowed to do this on a daily basis. One E-mail every, say, two weeks. That should do to fulfill whatever obligation you have to your family. Needless to say, you will continue to be monitored. Are we understood?"

"Yeah. Clear as spit," I mumbled. "While we're talking about people though, I've been meaning to ask: are Light and Misa always, y'know, restrained in their seats?"

"That's not really any of your business."

"I'd say it is. I gotta watch you watch them just about every day and lemme tell you it's bugging hell out of me."

"Then don't look."

"I can't not look! I already saw it. Look, I for one think it's stupid that you're going this far in the first place but can't you let them at least walk around if you really can't let them out?"

His big old eyes rolled up towards the cream-colored ceiling. "They get breaks for food, sleep and to use the bathroom facility."

I wiped underneath my eye with my wrist. "W-well, what'sa matter with giving them maybe two hours a day to stretch their legs and stuff? You keep this up they might hafta go to the hospital, and the nuthouse. How are ya gonna explain away everything then? What you think of them shouldn't matter at least as far as that goes; all I'm saying is have some compassion. What if that was you in that dingy cell? Haven't you heard of the Golden Rule?"

He didn't answer me immediately. A part of me wanted to think I'd left him at a loss for words but that'd be giving myself way too much credit.

Eventually he said, "I find the so-called 'Golden Rule' to be flawed. You can't always feasibly treat others the way you'd want to be treated as your preferences, which in themselves are prone to change, will more often than not be different from theirs."

"Ppht. I think everyone can agree on what basic decency is. Unless your idea of a good time is being locked up in a cell." I found myself inching away from him. "Holy crap, just when I thought you couldn't get any more disturbing..."

"It's not. But treating someone as they presumably want to be treated isn't always the right thing to do. Especially when they're criminals who obviously would rather not be punished."

"Wh-who made you the law of the land? That's the court's job to punish criminals, you doodlebop. You're just a guy that brings them in. Unless that's changed. 'Cause right now what you just said sounds like something Kira might tell himself."

If he found room to argue that, he didn't go for it. He must have gotten tired of listening to me whine for today.

"Well...I'll consider your suggestions. If that's what it takes for you to calm down and cooperate."

…

The next day a miracle happened.

Well, wait, no, it wasn't a real miracle. Ugh, crap, no, that was a terrible choice of words there. People dying is never ever a miracle. What I mean is, almost as abruptly as the killings had stopped, they started up again, with a bang. Matsui and I were hanging out by a newspaper stand after class so I could get my fix of current events and the scent of fresh newsprint, about fifteen days into Light's and Mr. Yagami's confinement, eighteen into Misa's. There it was on the front page in bold: "Kira's Revenge: Two Weeks' Worth of Criminals Rubbed Out In One Blow!" Or something like that.

I guess Kira had not only decided to get back to work, but to also make up for lost time. He meant business.

Matsui almost ran through three stoplights in getting us back to quarters, never quite exceeding the speed limit but surely pushing it. The race even continued when we scrambled out of the car, the two of us hightailing it up there like a couple of chickens in a slaughterhouse. We played clean, though. In fact, I even let Matsui barge in first to break the news, mostly because even though he was the rookie of the team, he was still part of the team. They would listen to him.

"What's going on?" he panted as soon as he charged across the threshold.

"Stop the presses!" I chimed in. Hey, I couldn't help it. That was just how I rolled.

"Two weeks' worth of criminals were taken out in one shot, yesterday!" said Matsui.

Aihara looked up from his seat, clenching a newspaper in his hands. "Yeah," he muttered, his features as hard as stone. "Kira's back."

"Have you told the Chief?"

"No, not yet."

Matsui fixed that. He dashed past L, planted in his usual spot in front of the screen, and grabbed for the microphone. Pushing a button, he called into it, "Chief! Kira's on the move again!"

Mr. Yagami was sitting in a chair in the middle of a lonely cell. He looked a lot older than he had the last time I'd seen him, and gaunt. His clothes hung off him like he'd gotten too skinny for them, rippled and unstarched, and his graying hair, having long since lost its sheen and neatness, hung in his unshaven face. Until Matsui had spoken to him, he'd just sat there, as empty as an old hermit crab shell.

But boy, as soon as he heard him, he sprang right out of his chair. "What?"

"Kira was just resting, Chief! Criminals are being judged again!" Uh, "judged?" Is that what they'd decided to call it?

"I-is this true, Matsuda?" That must've been Matsui's real name…

From my place in the back of the room, it killed me to see Mr. Yagami's eyes, hollow only a moment before, soften with hope. I prayed to God or whatever was in charge up there that that hope wouldn't be in vain. "S-so my son…"

He looked down from the camera. "Well, I can't say that I'm happy that the killings have started again, but this should mean that the suspicions surrounding my son are—wait. Knowing Ryuzaki, this probably still won't be enough to convince him of Light's innocence…"

So then Matsuda and Aihara glared at old L, silently goading him to change his mind, at least a little. Even I got in on it, so long as I stayed in the back where he didn't see me.

L looked at the two men standing behind him. "Well…he's in the gray," he said, not too convincingly, I thought. Like he'd just said that to get us off his back.

Matsuda spoke into the mike, "Did you hear that, Chief?"

"Yeah. It's a hell of a lot better than being 'black.' Thank goodness."

"I say as far as grays go, Light's pretty close to being 'white!'" cheered Matsuda. As soon as he put the mike down, he started reaching for the mike that connected to Light's cell. "Let's go tell Light—!"

"Matsuda!"

I could hear the air suddenly split in half as L slapped him—slapped him, for Christ's sake!—away. The semi-nice guy from the day before was gone. The brat was back.

His tone immediately softened again. "I mean, please don't, Mr. Matsuda." Matsuda winced as he held on to his hand, like he'd just had a run-in with a mousetrap. L had scared him so much that all he could squeak was, "Matsuda?"

Long after he'd administered the slap L kept his hand raised, as though fending my buddy off. "We can't tell Light about this," he said.

"B-but why not?" My thoughts, exactly. Yeah L, why not?

Rather than answer us, L just leaned in to push the button to turn on the mike. "Light?"

The screen had separated into four: one for every detainee. Mr. Yagami was in the upper-right, Misa in the upper-left, Light in the lower-left, and I could see my room in the lower-right. In Light's square I saw him sitting on the floor in the middle of his cell, clad in black from both the shadows of his room and the fabric of his clothes and lurched over with his hands tied behind his back. His own hair having lost its sheen, he looked almost as sick as his dad.

"What is it, Ryuzaki?" he asked weakly, initially not even bothering to look up into the camera.

"You've been imprisoned for just over two weeks now, and not a single new criminal has been punished. Now why make this harder than it has to be? Are you ready to confess?"

...

HUH?

I felt my stomach drop clean to the floor. What the hell was he thinking, lying to Light like that? Had I been right? Did he still think Light was guilty when current events said otherwise?

That got Light to look up. He looked so pitiful bound to that concrete floor, in spite of the way his brown eyes burned into the screen. Bright as badges, like his dad's. "Don't be ridiculous! I'm telling you, you're wrong, Ryuzaki! Look, I'm not surprised that you think I'm Kira from the way the investigation's been going, but I swear, this is a set-up! I'm not Kira!"

His eyes widened even further, almost desperately. "Use the zoom, if you want. Go ahead, look into my eyes! You tell me, do these look like the eyes of someone who's lying?"

…What?

Jeez, now Light wasn't making any sense. Keep in mind that this was the same kid who, only two weeks before, had waltzed into the quarters with the proposal that he could be Kira, something I still hadn't been able to figure out. Now here he was denying it, up and down and around the town.

By the looks of things it seemed like, for whatever reason, L had been accusing him of being Kira for a while, long before I ever showed up. Maybe Light had asked to be locked up to prove his innocence, to get old L to finally put a sock in it? He'd made that proposal of being Kira just to get L to agree to it. You couldn't ask for anything from L the normal way; you had to appeal to his backassward thinking.

Yeah, that had to be it. I would know. I almost always had something to prove.

While I was sure he was a smart guy for the most part, maybe he hadn't known what he'd get himself into in doing this, and now he'd cracked? I knew that pain too, having underestimated L's extreme determination, myself.

But did L answer him? Of course not. Instead he hesitated, then disconnected the mike so he could reach for the third mike connecting to Misa's room and press the button. "Amane, are you ready to tell me who Kira is, or not?"

This time Misa was strapped into a chair, but that seemed to have been the only thing that'd changed since I'd last seen her. She was still blindfolded, listless, possibly as brain-fried as Light was. I could see that it took whatever energy she still had reserved to lift up her head. What if L wouldn't listen to me after all?

Her voice came out barely above a whisper: "This, again? I-I don't know, but I wish I did. If I did know who he was, I would thank him. Kira's…a super-hero who executed the man who murdered Misa's parents…"

Oh wow. So Misa was a Kira supporter, apparently with good reason. He'd done in the guy who'd done in her family. But was that enough to consider her the copycat? I mean, there were a ton of people out there who liked what Kira was doing, many of them victims of some kind of crime or people who knew victims. If those were his only grounds, why didn't he just arrest every Kira supporter in the country?

Maybe I shouldn't have but that's when I decided to speak up: "Hey, Ryuzaki, why not tell Light that criminals are dying again? He's one of the team, isn't he? Shouldn't he have the right to know?"

That wasn't how L rolled, however. Because that would only be the right thing to do. It kind of made me wonder why he had a team around him if he wasn't going to function like a team member.

Wonder if his "lack of a family" had something to do with that, why he couldn't act like a teammate…?

He turned to glance back at me. There was something off about how his face looked. Well, it'd always looked off, but I saw a different kind of "off" under the glow of the TV screen. I couldn't tell for sure, but his mouth kind of hung open by a millimeter or two, the usual peepholes in his head that were his eyes fogged over. As though...confused, however vaguely.

All he had to say to me was, "Seeing as you aren't exactly a member of the investigative team yourself, I fail to see why you would concern yourself with these matters."

Translation: "Get lost. No one asked you."

Hmph! I would if he'd let me.


	9. Wrong

I learned something interesting about L. He liked to be right. Now, everyone likes to be right; it's a natural thing. Even I would've loved to be right more than I usually was. Being right for me was about as important as having a nice car or big house or money or a shiny award. You know, something worth striving for, and about three-quarters of the time for a lot of people, including myself, not getting. But it didn't exactly kill me if I was wrong…much.

L? He didn't just like being right. He had to be right. Every idea that slithered out of that huge, pouty piehole of his held more truth than the Gospel. Being right for him was about as important as his junk food, if not more—oh, God forbid, more than his precious junk food!

I don't know, maybe it was a reputational thing, what with his being the world's greatest detective and all. I didn't think it was possible for one guy to be right all the time—frankly, I thought I was starting to dislike the idea since I'd met him. But if L wasn't right every single time, why did the world always turn to him as the cheat sheet for all of its puzzles, the trump card in the never-ending game of poker between crime and justice (the term "justice," of course, used loosely, here)?

Maybe it was a male-ego thing? Maybe it was just because no one had ever told him he was wrong when he was growing up—apparently because he'd had no one to tell him that, in the first place—so he wound up getting spoiled? Or hey, why not a combination of the three?

Whatever was the matter with him, all I knew for sure was that he hated being wrong, probably even more than he hated footwear, and trust me, that ran pretty deep. How did I figure that? Well, even after Kira resumed his "judgment" spree, he didn't do anything about it. He kept his bony duff planted in that chair and his eyes on Light, Misa and Mr. Yagami for the next thirty-five days.

I mean it! Thirty. Five. Days. Which, if you're a math whiz, added up with the previous fifteen since Light's confinement had started to make a brain-boggling total of FIFTY days (fifty-three for poor Misa). I was sort of counting, actually, though I probably shouldn't have. It only made this rut L had put me, himself, and everyone else in all the more torturous. I swear, if I hadn't had Matsuda, I don't think I would've survived. I might've done something wacko, like climb up a tree with a traffic cone and scream to everyone on campus who would listen, "EXTRA, EXTRA! TO-OH'S TWO TOP STUDENTS INVOLVED IN THE GREATEST CRIMINAL SCANDAL IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD!" Or something like that.

The days seemed to blend into each other. On my saner ones, I asked myself just how much L truly cared about justice. I mean, he was willing to sit in a dark room watching the "suspects" lie around while the real Kira ran wild, for Christ's sake! If the "justice" he talked about was actually what he called justice, then that'd make a little more sense to me, in a way.

In another way, it didn't. If that were the case, then…that didn't make him much different than Kira, did it?

On Day Fifty, we all decided that enough was enough. Light somehow found the energy to continue denying being Kira, Misa to deny knowing Kira, and Mr. Yagami to stay put not until he was convinced of his son's innocence, but until L was convinced. I heard the conversation, actually.

"Mr. Yagami, are you all right? There's no reason for you to keep doing this to yourself."

"It's been over a month since Kira started killing criminals again. And as far as I'm concerned, that's all the proof I need to be sure that my son isn't Kira. So then all that's left is for you to be sure. One way or another, when I leave here, it will be with my son." He didn't even bother to look up into the camera. That killed me.

To me, that only went to show what kind of man he really was. If I could have even half his stones, maybe I would do all right?

Matsuda and I were back from school. I stayed in the back of the room while he and Aihara—whose real name turned out to be Aizawa—stood behind their superior to confront him. I would've loved to join them, but I wasn't one of them. I had no say in anything.

"Wow. Chief can be pretty stubborn," muttered Matsuda to Aizawa.

And of course, L had never once mentioned a word about the new murders to Light, which only went on to show what kind of guy he really was. He stayed looming in front of the images of our listless detainees like the Invisible Garboil™ stalking a couple of Fraggles™.

"Light, how are you feeling, right now?" L asked into the mike, as if he cared.

Light was curled up on the floor in front of his cot. "I'm okay," he moaned into the screen. "Ryuzaki, I know that in the time I've been in prison, no new criminals have died..."

Kid, you have no idea. 

"However, that suggests to me that Kira must be someone who's intimately familiar with my situation. And if—"

Old L just steamrolled right over him: "No Light, the reason criminals have stopped dying is because you are Kira."

"No! I'm not Kira! How many times do I have to say it?"

Aizawa folded his arms over his chest, glowering at his superior. "This is just cruel. I don't care if he's a suspect; Light still has the right to know that criminals are being killed again."

Ditto, Aizawa. At that point, I was seriously toying with the idea of running up there and crying into the mike, "He lies, Light! He lies like a rug!"

But it was worse when L turned on the mike connected to Misa's room. "Amane?"

"...Yes?" I could barely hear her, she looked so out of it. She couldn't even lift up her head an inch. She just...dangled there, in her restraints, like a ragdoll.

"Are you okay? You seem tired."

I cringed when I heard Misa pleading softly to the floor, almost like a distraught phantom underneath the light, "Is that supposed to be funny? How would you expect me to seem after being tied up and questioned for this many days?"

"Hm, that's true." L was such a wad, I started to wonder if he even knew when he was being a wad, anymore. If he ever did.

"Please…hurry up and release me. I want to see Light…I need to see him…Light…oh, Light…"

"I-I'm not sure how much more of this the three of them can take," muttered Matsuda. Tell me about it.

"Ryuzaki, you have no reason to keep Light locked up, anymore," admonished Aizawa, finally at his boiling point. "Do the right thing and let him go, then we can get the Chief out, too. Criminals are still being killed, even though Misa and Light have had no access to any of that information! Don't you think that clears them of guilt?"

L? Doing the right thing? As if.

L was busy cleaning up the residual pudding from the inside of his cup. He paused to slurp a glop off of his fingertip. "No. All I've established is Amane's unnaturally strong devotion to Light."

So she kept calling out for her boyfriend…how did that pertain to keeping those two in confinement? Frankly, I didn't blame her. I'd almost say I felt the same way, in how I longed to go back home to my family. Did L find that suspicious, too?

Aizawa scowled. "Ryuzaki, I'm sorry, but with all due respect, from where I'm standing, it's starting to look like you're only doing this because you don't want to admit that you were wrong about Light being Kira." Ooh, right on the head, Aizawa! For a while there, I'd been afraid that the team had some kind of groupthink thing going on. I was afraid I was the only one who'd thought that, the reason L was still keeping those kids locked up, I mean.

Sluurp.

"Yes, I knew you'd say that." No justification for his actions or nothing. He never felt like he needed it, I guess.

Aizawa kept at it, though, his voice rising with every other word he said: "Okay, fine! But we do know that Kira killed Lind L. Tailor and those FBI agents, right? As Light said, if he were able to kill while under surveillance and without access to information, there would've been no need. Kira doesn't kill without good reason; I've heard you say so yourself on more than one occasion."

For some reason, I found myself holding on to the doorknob. I really needed something to hold on to.

"Oh, I see!" said Matsuda. "If Kira could kill people under these circumstances, he would've left those FBI agents alone because they'd have posed no threat."

L didn't say a word. He didn't even look back at us. His tongue did all the talking as it slurped up another glop of pudding off of his fingertip.

"It's been fifty days, now, Ryuzaki," said Aizawa. "There's no point to this, anymore. It's time to start looking for the real Kira!" I really did like him, old Aizawa. You could count on him to be the one to question L's authority without faltering. But I didn't mesh with him as well as I did with Matsuda, mostly because Aizawa was a more hard-nosed detective. He didn't like it when you goofed around a lot.

The room fell into a long, pregnant silence. Still not peeling his eyes off of Light's snuffed form lying on the floor, I saw L dip his finger into the cup again, only to draw away. Was he listening? Was he finally coming around? I tipped my hat over my eyes. Maybe the argument could use a little reinforcement…

I somehow came up with the brilliant idea to break the silence, with a little nonviolent protesting. Pumping my fists out in front of me, I began to chant, quietly, at first, but picking up volume with every step I took towards him.

"Let 'em go. Let 'em go. Let 'em go. Let 'em go! Let 'em go! Let 'em go! Let 'em GO! Let 'em GO! Let 'em GO!" 

I don't know why, but I sort of expected—hell, even hoped—that Aizawa and Matsuda would join in on my little mantra, or at least just Matsuda. They didn't. They completely hung me out to dry as I started pounding the back of L's chair, really trying to chant it into his ear. Even my feet got in the act as they started stomping to the beat.

Again, I might as well have been throwing peanuts at a lion, but again, I didn't realize what I was doing until I found myself a millimeter away from those huge, vacant eyes that threatened to suck out my soul if I stared into them for too long. Before I knew it, I was on the floor on my ass.

L was now crouching backwards in the chair, his fingers wrapped around the back of it like a little kid. That didn't keep him from looking intimidating, though, down from my spot on the floor. He hardly had to do anything to catch me off-guard.

Looking down at me, he said, "Are you finished?" Like I was boring him. "I believe this is about the time when you retire to your room." He then turned to Aizawa. "Please see to it that she gets to her room without incident."

Aizawa helped me to my feet. "Wh-what, you think I'm gonna go break my neck somehow if I go by myself?"

L's eyes rolled up towards the ceiling, his thumbnail finding its way into his mouth. After a minute's worth of contemplation, he said, "I'd rather not make the gamble."

The whole way from the den to my room, Aizawa kept passing dirty looks between L and me, like he really didn't feel like putting up with either of us. I whispered, "Hey, just for the record, I didn't ask to be here. And I'm behind you a hundred percent about Light and Misa, for what it's worth." I'm not sure how much that helped, I just didn't want Aizawa looking at me dirty when all I'd done was help his cause.

So I got sent to my room, but I was far from finished. He couldn't shut me up, maybe on the outside, but not in here. I was on a roll! Guess what I did when I got tired of staring at the door? I stormed over to the table to tear open the laptop.

Bee-beep. 

"Yes, Miss Crocker?" 

I wound up doing the exact same thing I'd been doing out in the den: "Let 'em go! Let 'em go! Let 'em go! Let 'em GO! Let 'em GO! Let 'em GO!" Yeah, I know. Picking on an old guy because his partner was being an asshole: only went to show what kind of jerk I really was. But that wasn't all my fault. Try spending a month and some under a madman detective's roof, see if you'd still feel remotely sane after the ordeal. My brain was dashing in all directions, at this point.

"Miss Crocker, what are you doing?" 

"What's it look like? Ryuzaki sent me to my room, so I want you to tell him something for me: Let 'em GO! Let 'em GO! Let 'em GO!" 

"If I may interject, Miss Crocker," said Watari, without missing a beat, "I fail to see the productivity of what you are doing."

Yeah? Tell that to L, I thought bitterly. He's the one being unproductive. 

"My sincerest apologies, but if you insist on continuing this, we may be forced to revoke certain privileges of yours." 

I folded my arms and scowled at the "W" on the screen. "You've already taken my freedom; what else can you take? You're not my parents." Remember how I said he couldn't shut me up? Well…

"No, but your privilege of sending electronic mail to your family can be revoked if he sees it fit." 

Translation: "If you don't cut that out right now, you can kiss all communications with your mommy and daddy and brother good-bye." L giveth, L taketh away. Actually, maybe that's what the L stood for? Lord? In his head, at least. Lord of the Looney Toons.

That shut me up. Besides Matsuda, the E-mails to my family had been keeping me going during those fifty god-awful days. I felt a little worse each time for lying to them, but to be honest I think I would've much rather done that than not get to speak to them at all.

For some reason, as I sat there red-faced and tight-lipped, I thought about asking Watari about L. Specifically, about his lack of a family. He knew him pretty well, I was sure; maybe he would know? I'd thought about asking him that many times over the course of those fifty days, but something always kept the question from leaving my lips. Either it'd never seemed like a good time, or he seemed too loyal to L to reveal anything personal about him.

This time, though, it just seemed like a bad time to ask. So, I didn't. What I did ask, though, was: "…Are you at least gonna tell Ryuzaki to let them go?"

"You needn't worry about that. In fact, I am content to say that he is working that out as we speak." 

…

The day the three of them were finally released it was towards the end of July, the time when most people kicked back for the summer break. Here I was at the table having dinner with no one around for company but Watari and the dishes he set out between us. The others were off doing…well, detective stuff, things that invaded my thoughts to the point where I hardly had room in my knotted stomach for dinner.

"You've barely touched your dinner, Miss Crocker," said Watari from across the table. "Is something troubling you?" I hated to be redundant, but what a thing to ask with everything going on.

I stopped separating the food into piles on my plate with my fork. When you're stressed out, having your food touch each other on the plate somehow bugs all the more hell out of you. "Um…I'm just wondering where everybody is, is all. Conducting 'top-secret detective business,' I guess?"

Watari nodded. "They should be finished very soon."

...

How would he respond if I told him that I was starting to think I was seeing things after all? Watari gave me my camera back every time I went out with Matsuda and that one picture I took...now there really was nothing there. Whatever thing I'd captured was gone. Like, never-been-there gone. Without a trace. How do you see something like that for days on end and then not anymore? If I told him about it would he think I was crazy and have me tossed in the loony bin or deported?

Actually maybe that wouldn't be so bad if it meant I could get out of here?

But then what? What would I tell anyone after that? Maybe they still wouldn't let me go? I was too deep in this shit to expect to get out smelling remotely like a rose. Well, L hadn't asked me any more about the thing since that one night. So maybe it wasn't that important after all?

I felt like I should say something about it though. But maybe not to Watari? He might not know what I was talking about. That depended on how much L shared with the guy.

I cleared my throat. With no one else here, could I give it a whirl and ask Watari about L? I probably wouldn't get much out of him, but hey: now or never. Either I'd try now, or I'd never try.

I let another spell of uncomfortable silence fall between us—uncomfortable on my end, at least—so I could squeeze up the guts to throw it out there. I figured I'd better get it over with quickly, before I lost the guts again. "Watari, you've been working with Ryuzaki for a long time, right? So, you must know him pretty well?"

Watari looked up from his own plate, his mustache smiling at me. Maybe he was happy that I wasn't calling him Grampa. "You could say that, yes," he answered as softly as the clink of his silverware against the fine china.

"Listen, try not to tell anyone else this, but Ryuzaki…he told me once that he had no family. Know anything about that?"

He didn't answer me right away, naturally. By the way the creases in his brow deepened he seemed to be trying to concoct an appropriate answer. He set his silverware down and reached for a napkin.

"I'm not at liberty to tell you much about Ryuzaki, but…in a way, it's true. He has no known relatives."

"And…he never has?"

"No."

Almost a month later that killed me. How could someone get along for as long as L had without family? Obviously not well, judging by how the guy had turned out.

"Everybody comes from a family, Watari. Maybe he does have people out there in this big old universe? Being the great detective that he is, he could probably track 'em down easy, if he wanted to. DNA and all that."

"Perhaps, but such knowledge is of no use to Ryuzaki. It does not matter to him where one comes from, as it does where he is in the present."

I tapped my fork against my plate in thought. I couldn't accept that. How could someone not care one mite about whether they've got family out there, or who they were? Especially since this was a guy who liked getting the dirt on everyone around him. Unless...

Something really bad happened to them. His parents...did they abandon him? (Abandoning a child, another thing I hadn't thought much about until this. To call something like that horrible would be understated and redundant.) Or...?

"He never had family, or did he just have 'em all rubbed out when he got the job as the world's best detective? You know, to protect his identity and stuff?"

"As I said before I can't tell you very much. But I can assure you of this much, that was not the case."

Psh, maybe he means that he has no human relatives? For all you know, Mars was having a crisis that forced his birth parents to blast him into outer space, and then his vessel just happened to crash to Earth. In the woods. Where he was raised by apes until he was captured by seedy scientists who used him as a test subject for their twisted experiments. Before he ran away and wild until getting thrown into a max-security prison for psycho criminals, where his "gifts" for detecting were discovered, so the police started secretly giving him cases to solve in exchange for cakes and cookies—

As farfetched as this backstory sounded—and as much as it ripped off from other backstories—it also helped to explain so, so many things.

What pissed me off most was that I had no way of knowing if Watari was lying or not. He was too ambiguous for me. Being pretty much L's right hand, I wouldn't have put it past him to be a big fat liar. Hell, maybe he'd been lying to me the whole time since this conversation had started? There was no point in asking about someone if all I'd get were lies.

So I asked him something a little less personal. Maybe he'd feel more inclined to tell the truth? "What about friends? Uh, colleagues, coffee-buddies or something?"

Watari shook his head. "I can't say he has those either."

Aw what? You've got to be kidding me! Somehow that surprised me (how can someone as big as L not have at least a couple peers to discuss cases with?)…but in a way it didn't. With that attitude of his I didn't think anyone felt much like drinking coffee with the likes of him. Dump it on him maybe, but not drink it with him.

Refusing to show your face to people is bound to put up a few barriers to boot.

No family. No friends. No name. Nobody. He may as well have never existed. Just a spooky urban legend from a dark corner of the world's imagination.

"So…you're all he has?"

Was it just me, or did Watari look kind of sad, all of a sudden? If I strained my ears, I might've heard it in his voice: "That may well be the case."

"What got him into detecting in the first place?"

"It interests him. Not that different from your own motivations for taking up journalism, really." A generic answer, in a fond tone not unlike that used by a teacher or an indulging parent talking about their A-student (even if you didn't think the kid deserved the praise). Okay, it interested him. I could figure that much. But what exactly about detecting caught his eye? Was it an outlet for his altruistic sense of "justice?" A means to get displaced vengeance for some past wrongdoing? Redemption for some past screw-up of his own (least likely)? Or just some twisted hobby to keep him from getting bored out of his gourd, like video games or fantasy roleplay for the average pizza-faced geek?

The prongs of my fork rested on top of a pile of noodles. The lump in my throat was starting to make it hard to swallow. "How'd you two meet up, anyway? Or is that more classified information?"

Of course, he was quiet for a while. My grip on my fork tightened when I saw him open his mouth, expecting, hoping for a yarn about how he got tied up with a nutbar like L. Maybe he was a special agent specially selected to hold the leash, or something? Or maybe he had to work with him once on a case and they ended up getting attached to each other, in their own screwed-up way? Must've been Watari's mad baking skills that won L over.

What I got instead was, "I believe the cake is finished." He rose up to push his chair in. "I'd best go check on it. Please excuse me, I'll be right back."

I propped myself up by my elbows, jaw resting in my hand as I fiddled around with my food for a minute more. Of course, he'd use the cake as a diversion. Why didn't he just tell me that was classified information? No one else here seemed to have a problem with saying tha—

BANG! 

The air around me shattered like a window with a hapless baseball flying through it, only louder, crisper, and lethal. Somehow, I wound up flailing on the floor, my chair upset beside me and my fork missing. But did I get back up? Oh, no. Out of pure instinct, I scrambled right under the table, arms pressed over my head like a shield as my eyes darted frantically in all directions. Suddenly, all the memories concerning those stupid lockdown drills they used to do in school came crashing back.

What the hell was that?

Was that a gunshot I just heard?

I'll confess, my view on guns had also been kind of skewed by the movies. When I saw someone on the silver screen whip one out—be it the good guy or the bad—I loved how the ring of the shot echoed in my ears, bringing with it either justice or nail-biting suspense. It all seemed so…cool.

Now I'd just heard a real gunshot, and believe me, it sure as hell didn't sound cool. My heart banged against my ribcage as though trying to escape the bullet before it could find its way through me.

Reality checks: they suck. I couldn't emphasize that enough.

Watari came out again, like everything was hunky-dory. "Miss Crocker, why are you under the table?" He didn't sound panicked, at all!

I squeezed my eyes shut; they stung so much. "Didn't you hear that, old man?" I squealed, yes, squealed. "Get down before your brains splatter all over the wall!"

"Oh, my." No kidding!

He didn't get down. He just placed something on the table—presumably the cake. "It's all right, Miss Crocker; we are in no danger. You must have heard the blank," he said from behind me, like I'd only heard the wind or something.

Numbness slowly choked out my adrenaline rush, from the toes upward. My arms slipped limp off my head, my breath still shallow. "Wh…what? A blank? Is that what you said?" My ears were still popping, so I might not have heard him right.

"Yes. You may come out."

I didn't move, right away, I was so dizzy. I sort of took my time scooting around until I could face Watari. He held out his hand to help me up from out of there.

"My sincerest apologies for the scare, Miss Crocker," said Watari. "You were supposed to stay out of the way while Ryuzaki and the others carried out the plan."

I felt a little cross-eyed. "Uh…who-what-now?"

Watari set up my chair and guided me into it. "In regards to Yagami and Amane."

Well, I almost wound up collapsing right back onto the floor; probably would've if Watari hadn't been there holding my hand. "Oh, God…oh man, he's not—he's not getting them sh-sh-shot, is he…?"

The old man patted my hand, trying to comfort me. "No, not at all, dear, not at all. It was all staged, an act. A test, if you will."

My grip on him only tightened. I just wanted to stop shaking, but I don't think that helped. If anything, it only made me shake worse. "A test? What the hell's Ryuzaki trying to prove by doing that?" I shut my eyes to gather my thoughts, and somewhere along the way, I could remember that argument between L and Aizawa. Aizawa and Matsuda had said that they'd established how Kira didn't kill more than he needed to.

"…he would've left those agents alone because they'd have posed no threat."

Threat…

…

Gah, Jesus Christ. He wouldn't!

I'd been squealing so much since I'd heard the gunshot—something I felt so ashamed of, believe me—that my voice had gotten hoarse when I looked Watari square in the eye. "Did he want to see if Light and Misa could kill, or what? By putting them in a dangerous situation?"

His mustache smiled at me. "You are correct."

Oh man, were Light and Misa okay? Most likely. Watari had said they'd only used a blank, and there was no way either of them could've done anything to…well, whoever had fired it. But that didn't stop me from flopping down on the table, the wind practically knocked out of me.

I held up a feeble finger. "H-hey, just for the record I was already under the table when I heard that. I'd dropped my fork on the floor. I was looking for it. And then…you know." I was trying to justify all that screaming from earlier. I just didn't want him to think I was a weenie. Although…I guess that was already painfully obvious. I was a weenie. A big, yellow weenie. A funny kind of yellow, sure, but still yellow. It amazed me how I'd managed to survive for this long.

"As you wish, Miss Crocker. You know, experiencing fear is not a sign of weakness nor is expressing it. In fact the first step in true bravery is to admit it when you are afraid, and then acting in spite of it."

That's easy for you to say. You've probably had all the fear wrung out of you. 

Boy, what a way to run a railroad. Just when I thought L couldn't get any more fucked up, he proved me dead wrong. He always proved me dead wrong.

"Sure, sure...oh, uh, Watari?"

"Hm?"

"Um, I don't know how much stuff he shares with you but...a while ago he was asking me about this thing I thought I snapped a picture of when I was exploring downtown. I thought I did but now I look at that picture and I don't see it anymore. In your expert opinion, ya think I'm going nuts?"

He didn't answer for a spell but when he did his reply was semi-assuring and not at all judgmental. "Hallucinations need not necessarily indicate psychosis. Have you a history?"

"My folks like to say I've got an overactive imagination but apart from that, no, not really. Either way, could you pass the word on to old Ryuzaki for me? I mean, I don't know if he'll want to know that..."

Oh boy, did I want a word with the guy. After what he'd just pulled? How could I let that slide?

"I will. You may simply be overstressed, or perhaps you're falling ill. I'll help you to your room if you need to lie down."

Yes. Pillows. I could use some pillows.

…

He proved me even more wrong later that night. Light and Misa had in fact made it out of that ordeal unscratched…but not really. Everyone gathered around in the main room. Me? In the meantime, I found myself once again on the outside with my ear pressed against the door. For some reason, he wouldn't let me come out and meet Light or Misa. Maybe their being "suspects" in this stupid case had something to do with it, but I for one didn't see what the danger was. Even if either of them had seen my face, they didn't know me from Adam, nor did I know them. Besides, all I'd done was see Misa get arrested.

See, this was what happened when no one would tell me anything. I had to go try seeking it out for myself, and it'd all be on them if things got messy. I hoped L knew that.

I'd briefly speculated whether this was some kind of punishment for getting his feathers all ruffled when I threw those pillows at him after having Watari explain what he was doing with Mr. Yagami and the mock execution. But maybe that was just wishful thinking, to think someone like me could ruffle the great detective's feathers.

Turned out that in essence, nothing had changed. The two of them were still suspects, still being forced to stay with the team under surveillance, but minus the restraints.

Okay, not really. Restraints were still involved.

I heard the soft rattle of a chain. "Are you sure this is necessary, Ryuzaki?" Light asked.

"This is as difficult for me as it is for you," said L.

I didn't know whether to choke with laughter or choke with disbelief. Oh, no…he didn't! Had he gone and handcuffed himself to the kid? Crazy bastard really couldn't let it go, could he?

While I was on the subject, I couldn't help but wonder why L had ever let Light join in on the case in the first place, if he couldn't even trust him. Maybe he was one of those types who believed in "keeping the enemy close?" Sure was taking it pretty far…

On the other hand, this probably meant that Man-Brat was Light's problem, now. Wasn't sure I felt too much relief about that, though.

"So, this is what you meant by being together 24/7?" I heard Misa ask. She sounded pretty hesitant, and I didn't blame her. Except, she had a different reason to object to the arrangement.

"But…you're both guys. It's kind of creepy. Are you on that side of the fence, Ryuzaki?" I think she just asked him if he was gay. No, Misa, he wasn't gay. Probably. I didn't know, and I didn't care. He was just the most backwards guy you'd ever meet; that was good enough for me.

"I told you, I'm not doing this because I want to. All right?"

"But Light belongs to Misa!" whined Misa. "Misa doesn't want to share him with you! If you're with him twenty-four hours a day, then when are Light and Misa allowed to go on dates?"

"Oh, you can go on dates, any time. It will just have to be the three of us."

I would've pounded my fist against the door if I hadn't known better. No fair! He considered these two suspects, but he'd let them mess around whenever they wanted! I on the other hand was a total innocent, yet he hadn't let me go anywhere besides to school and back, or even let me E-mail my family all that often! It sounded like he treated his suspects better than his witnesses.

On top of that, having the "suspects" run around meant even more restrictions imposed on me!

Aw, buck up, Erin. It all sucks, but it could be worse. YOU could be in those handcuffs. Besides, they don't have it all that great. He'll be with them all the time. 

"No way!" Misa stamped her foot. "You're saying that we have to kiss in front of you and stuff?"

"I'm not telling you to do anything, but yes, I suppose I'd be watching."

Translation: "Suck it up, sister. My case, my rules."

Misa squealed in disgust, "That's so gross! You really are a pervert, aren't you?" Oh, yeah: nothing like having old Crumb Bum watching your every move to kill the mood, really smash it into the dirt with a brick. I was going out on a limb, here, but something told me that he'd probably never even had a girlfriend (or boyfriend). He didn't seem to realize how much this bothered Misa to have her guy chained to him all the time. Or if he did, he just didn't care, the drip.

"Light, please make Misa stop talking, now," moaned L. She couldn't move him; no amount of bitching would. I gave her credit for effort, though. At least this meant she'd recovered her pep.

"Misa, that's enough," said Light. "Given that they can prove you sent those tapes to Sakura TV, you should be grateful that they decided to release you."

Tapes? What tapes? Was Misa here because of a prank gone awry?

I could hear shocked betrayal tingeing old Misa's voice. Even her boyfriend was turning on her? "Huh? No, Light, not you, too! Have you forgotten? Misa's your girlfriend! Don't you trust your own soulmate?"

Light grunted in confusion. "Soulmate? You're the one that's been chasing me around, claiming to have fallen in love with me at first sight, Misa."

...

Ouch. Where did that come from?

Naturally, I don't think Misa took that too well. Her voice quivering with spontaneous sobs, she demanded, "So why would you kiss me if you didn't have feelings for me? You'd take advantage of me? Gaaah, stupid, stupid, stupid, STUPID!"

As though she were beating on a bongo, I heard the harmless pounding of tiny fists—one beat for every "stupid"—against a chest, most likely Light's. So, they weren't dating? Why mess around with a girl that you don't even like that way, anyhow? All you were doing was asking for trouble. Boys: I didn't get them, sometimes. Although I guess girls could act pretty weird, too, as demonstrated by Misa. Or yours truly.

L decided to step in on this lovers' quarrel. "Regarding this 'falling in love at first sight,' this happened on May twenty-second in Aoyama, right, Misa?"

Almost as abruptly as her tantrum had begun, it ebbed. "Yeah?" she piped up. "So?"

"Why did you choose that day to go to Aoyama? Do you recall what you wore?"

The girl huffed, "How many times do I have to tell you? Look, I just went out on a whim! I don't know how I was feeling, and I sure don't know what I was wearing, either. Is it so wrong for Misa to hang around in Aoyama without a reason to? By the way, why would you care what I was wearing? Pervert!"

Without missing a beat, L replied, "And somehow, when you came back from Aoyama, you knew that you were in love with someone and that his name was Light…"

"Yes!"

"Yet you have no idea how you came to know his name without even speaking to him."

"Yeah, so what?"

I don't know, maybe Light had been traveling around with a group and had been wearing a name tag, or something. A dumb hunch, I know, but that was exactly why I hated not getting things. To assume is to make an "ass" out of "U" and "me."

So then L popped an even weirder question: "Tell me, what if Light was Kira? How would that make you feel?"

"Huh? How would Light being Kira make me feel?"

"That's right."

All of a sudden, I could hear Misa sighing and swooning all over the place. "That would be wonderful!" she said dreamily. "Misa has always been grateful to Kira for passing judgment on the man who murdered Misa's parents. If Light turned out to be him, that would make me love him even more! Even though I couldn't possibly love him more than I already do!"

And to think that just a moment before, she'd been calling Light stupid and whatnot.

To keep her on track, L said, "It's Kira, though. You say you'd love Light even more for that? Wouldn't you be afraid? What if he tried to kill you?"

Unfazed, Misa answered, "Light, being Kira? That wouldn't be scary, at all! I'm a Kira supporter, so if I found out that my Light was actually him, I'd think of a way to be helpful." Okay, I had to credit her for speaking her mind and all, but given her current position as a suspect, something told me that that was not the smartest thing to say, especially not to the guy leading the investigation. Girl seemed a couple tools short of a tool box, if you know what I mean.

But then, where was my room to criticize?

Was it just me, or could I hear a couple blood vessels in the room throbbing? I could certainly hear the guys groaning in the background.

"That's very generous of you, but I'm sure Kira wouldn't need your help. You'd probably be more of a nuisance, if anything." There was that word, again. "Well, Misa, based on everything you've just told me, there's no mistake that you are the Second Kira. Only you've made that so painfully obvious, I'm not sure I want to believe it," said Mr. Wad. What did I tell you?

"Whatever! It's not believable, because Misa's not the Second Kira! Bleh!"

He remained unperturbed. "Anyway, for the time being, we'll be placing you under surveillance. When you do go out if needed, please contact us by using this room's extension. For the most part, your life will return to normal." How generous of him, right? That was more than what I could say for what he'd done for me.

"But from now on, for private and work-related affairs, Matsuda will accompany you as your manager, Matsui, at all times."

I could hear poor Matsuda cheering, saying "Hi!" and "Yoo-hoo!" to Misa in the background. Boy, what could be better than becoming the manager of one of your idols? But man! I guess that meant our days of going to school, singing along to the radio, were numbered, didn't it? I couldn't say how much I would miss him.

"Your agency has been paid to keep quiet, and the police don't know. Don't blow his cover."

And have as much fun with Matsuda as I have, I thought. She would, too, I just knew it.

That didn't mean she was on board with the arrangement, though. She huffed, "That old guy, as my manager? You must be kidding me!"

HEY! Don't call my buddy "old!" Especially when he wasn't; the guy was twenty-something!

Poor Matsuda sounded shattered! "Aw, come on, what's wrong with me, Misa-Misa? Is it the tie, because I can—"

"GAAAH!" 

The next thing I knew, I'd toppled to the ground, while the atmosphere on the other side of the door shattered under Aizawa's hands slamming on the table.

"Would you cut it out with all this dating, kissing and Misa-Misa crap, already? This is the Kira investigation; stop messing around!" Aizawa was a pretty passionate guy, himself, although I couldn't say he was as fun as Matsuda.

Matsuda sounded like he had his tail tucked between his legs. "S-sorry, Aizawa," he whimpered.

"No, it's all right, I just figured out what the problem is," snarled Aizawa. I heard him rise out of his seat, his every footstep echoing against the hardwood floor with authority. "Misa Amane, it's time for you to go to your room."

"Whyyy?" 

"Out you go!"

The spastic shuffling of arms and feet prompted me to get back on my own and split. I would've loved to stay to listen in on the juicier stuff they would no doubt start talking about as soon as the starlet had left, but I didn't know which door he was going to throw her out of. I sure didn't want to get caught snooping on them. Not with that foul mood of Aizawa's.

I got this close to asphyxiating on my own mirthless laughter. L pays Misa's employers, but with me, he has to resort to kidnapping. That cracked me up. He always had to do it every which way but the right way. What a piece of work he was. God.

Uh, Erin? I think he did offer you money when this all started. You're the one who said no. 

Not that that justifies what he ended up doing when that failed. 

And if he'd somehow pick up that I had been snooping, L couldn't call me out on it, either, with Light chained to him and all. Could I count that as a benefit?


	10. Rumble

Sometime in the middle of the night—or was it morning?—I woke to the rapping of knuckles on my door. I reached over to turn on a lamp. Who the heck could THAT be?

As soon as I could start thinking again, blinked the soreness out of my eyes, I automatically ruled out L. L never knocked.

"Miss Crocker?" a voice murmured. "Are you awake?"

Watari, then? Well, that was easy. I grabbed my robe off of the chair and tied it around me as I stumbled over to the door, combing the gnarls out of my hair with my fingers.

"For the most part, yeah," I slurred, rubbing my eyes out with my knuckles. "What d'ya want?" At that point, I'd gotten kind of used to getting woken up in the middle of the night. I still didn't like it, mind you; I just started to tolerate it. Mostly because it would do me no good to complain.

Watari unlocked the door, and I opened it to peek out at him through the crack. "Forgive the disturbance, Miss Crocker. But I must ask that you get dressed. You will need to pack your things, posthaste."

That wiped whatever sleep I still had clean off my brain. Had I heard that right? Had Fuzzy finally come around? I had to twist my pinkie around in my ear canal, just to make sure I didn't have wax blocking it or something.

I propped myself up against the threshold, a bemused and groggy smile weaving into my lips. "So, you guys finally decided to let me go home?"

Watari shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

That killed my buzz almost as quickly as it had aroused it. I don't know what made me think they'd ever decide to do that; hoping for the sake of hoping, I guess. Nevertheless, the grin on my face shriveled into a scowl. "What'd you wake me up for, then?" I asked sourly. "Never mind, I'm goin' back to bed," I grumbled with a wave.

I was about to shut the door on the old man when he reached out to hold the knob on his side. "Miss Crocker, wait. You don't understand—"

"Of course, I wouldn't understand! You guys won't tell me a damn thing!" I snapped, then instantly wished I hadn't. L was the problem, not so much Watari, who was only following orders. Don't shoot the messenger, Erin. You should know that very well.

I pinched the spot between my eyes, hanging my head so he wouldn't see me blushing like a tomato. "I—I'm sorry. Look, all I'm saying is that if you really want me to jump out of bed in the middle of the night to pack my stuff, I think that I should at least have a reason to. Can you at least do that for me? Gimme a reason, please?"

So, he gave me one: "Ryuzaki is relocating the team to a new headquarters."

What? Again? If L didn't want anyone looking for him, why not go hide in a mole hole? Any old mole hole. No one would ever think to look there. I groaned, "No offense, Watari, but this thing with moving from hotel to hotel is getting kind of irritating. Doesn't he have a place that's more…I don't know, permanent? Like a secret lair out in a cave, or a swamp, or something?"

Watari chuckled a little. "Well, I wouldn't say the new location is in a swamp or cave, but we do, in fact, have a more permanent arrangement established. As of now, at least."

I arched an eyebrow at him. I could feel my journalist senses start to tingle, making my fingers and toes curl and prickle. Did I smell another plot twist? Oh, boy. How bad would this one be? "No fooling? Well, then, why haven't we been staying over there, in the first place?"

"As I've said before, we have only now just established it. Now, if you need any assistance in moving your things, do not hesitate to ask for it."

I stretched a little before I really got going. Every day this case kept getting more and more bizarre, but I could say or do nothing about it except roll with it. The better part of life is that way, if you think about it. Besides, hearing about this new Batcave™ or whatever sort of piqued my interest; it sounded like something fresh out of a comic book.

I didn't do much when it came to dressing; just crammed into a sweatshirt and slacks over my PJs. The way I figured it, the first thing I would probably do once I got settled into this new place was go back to sleep. Only Watari and Mr. Yagami were up to help me lug out my stuff. As the three of us headed down the elevator, I turned to both of them—first Watari, then Mr. Yagami—and asked, "Um, does anyone else know about the new 'quarters?"

Watari nodded. "They do. But they will not be moving in until sometime later. Ryuzaki wants you moved in first."

"Why?"

Mr. Yagami spoke up, "Being that the two of them are still suspects, he doesn't want Light or Amane to know you are with us." His voice sounded a little drained, doubtless because his mind was still strained about still having his own kid as the prime suspect.

I couldn't help but groan. "That so? Well then, if he's so concerned about my safety, why doesn't he just send me home?" I had a feeling I had become a real pain in the ass about that since I'd met the team. To be honest, I think I sort of wanted to be a pain in the ass. This part of me held on to the notion that maybe, if I kept that up, they would crack and have to send me home.

Oh, who was I kidding? I'd been stuck with them for about two months already. It took all my energy just to maintain my own sanity, never mind break down theirs. Besides, these guys were working on the biggest, dirtiest murder case of the century. Compared to Kira, I couldn't even leave a scratch.

"You know we can't do that," said Mr. Yagami. "We know how much you want to go home but it wouldn't exactly be the wisest thing to let you, not with all the knowledge you've acquired."

I think it would be wise, I thought but dared not say aloud. No one asked what I thought. Erin Blogger—or Elin Crocker, as L had so graciously christened me—was just the stupid American kid, her presence a strict and totally avoidable accident (just ask my parents). If my big mouth would only let me I might as well have shut up for the rest of the case.

So I dropped it. But I didn't keep nearly as quiet in the back seat of the Royce as we drove off into the urban nebula. I was tapping my feet, drumming my fingers, humming the vintage Batman™ theme music to myself as I stared out the window, not exactly able to bask in the city lights and blinking signs in Japanese calligraphy due to the window's tinted glass. Off I went, horsing around again. I did that, sometimes, when I got nervous or excited, just to try to feel better. Boy, was I nervous all of a sudden. I felt like a practical pin cushion.

Besides, in a weird way it felt appropriate. I mean, crazy-mad deductive skills, fancy gizmos, a butler, a Batcave™, the emotional capacity of a cinder block, batty out the wazoo…geez, all he was missing was a damn mask and cape. Oh, and martial arts skills. I briefly wondered if he could actually be Bruce Wayne if he had a nervous breakdown and let himself go to pot.

"Huh? Did you say something?" Mr. Yagami turned to ask me from the shotgun.

I pursed my lips. "No." I said it more like a question than an answer.

The silhouette of the "Batcave™" that rose up from the windshield looked nothing like the one I had pictured in my head. For one I thought it was going to be more inconspicuous, like out underneath a mansion somewhere in the woods. I didn't expect a huge-ass skyscraper smack in the middle of the city (I counted twenty-three gorgeous floors, with probably more I couldn't see). Its neighbors didn't even come close!

But maybe that was the point? By making it look so obvious, it blended in perfectly with the city lines. It's funny how the most backward thinking could get people by, sometimes.

It took me until I asked Watari about it to realize that I'd lost my breath. "Holy he—that's it? That's the Batca—I-I mean, the new headquarters?"

"Correct."

"You built this? All by yourselves?"

"Again, you are correct." If L was Batman™, Watari was Alfred™, his secret-keeper, his right hand, perfectly content to cook and clean and work in the background while his partner did his thing. How on earth did he get stuck with a guy like L? Moreover, how did he put up with him?

I whistled. "Where'd Ryuzaki scrape up the finances for that crazy thing?" I started to reach for the switch so I could roll the window and get a better look.

"As you can see, we are quite determined in apprehending Kira. No expense is spared. And please keep your person within the car. Do not open the window." That didn't exactly answer my question, but I dropped it. They almost never gave me a straight answer.

The more and more I took in, right back from when we slipped into the underground driveway, the more parallels I spotted to the Batcave™ from the comics or the films or whatever; I sort of made a game out of it, just to help me calm down. I don't think it helped much, though. If anything, it made my senses flare. No matter how long I'd stayed with the team, they never ceased to amaze me, confound me…scare me, even. This was the stuff of action flicks I was looking at, only real.

And far less enjoyable as I would've liked it.

Christ, it was a wonder I hadn't spontaneously combusted yet.

Watari and Mr. Yagami helped me take my bags to my room, which again, turned out to be way the hell up on top. I didn't mind it being up so high; being a New Yorker, I was used to heights. In fact, I liked heights, mostly for the view that came with them. The only problem was the time it took just to get up there, practically fifteen minutes or so, said my mental clock.

I was looking in every direction even before the elevator doors swished open. "My room is on this floor?"

"This entire floor is yours, as a matter of fact," said Watari.

That made me swell up a little, for some reason, like I'd just gotten the keys to my own penthouse, or something. My arms stretched out at my sides like they were trying to embrace the entire thing. "No way! This whole floor…it's mine?"

"Indeed. Everyone will be getting their own floor. This building has been designed to accommodate up to sixty people."

Unless he counted the little handcuff arrangement with L and Light, who would most likely be sharing a floor. Plus a bed, plus a bathroom, plus shower-time—

Ew-ew, stop, stop, bad visuals. Would L really take it that far? It's one thing if the guys are together and that's just something they like to do on the weekend for kicks, but for two straight guys to do that when they've got no good reason to...

Assuming that the two of them were in fact straight...

"Are you all right, Elin?"

"Uhm…nothing. I just felt like throwing up in my mouth, for a second there. I do that when I get forced out of bed in the middle of the night."

Would it have made me a jerk if I stopped to thank my lucky stars that I wasn't in Light's shoes, right now?

Mr. Yagami looked me over funny. I didn't blame him. "Yes, well…at any rate, we're sorry we have to do this, but," he said, "we are going to have to put restrictions on where exactly you can go and when. Light and Amane mustn't know that you're here. Is that understood?"

Boy, was I lucky that school had been dismissed for the summer break. But God, why didn't they tie me to a post, while they were at it? "It would be if I knew why they can't know about me. I'm not some million-dollar diamond or anything."

"We're only doing this to...ensure your safety." I hated how he said that, like he was forcing himself to say it because he couldn't believe any of this himself. Like his son and his girlfriend were so dangerous that they'd tear out my throat the nanosecond they knew I was here. Yeah right, man.

"Gee, thanks. I think. But you know what would really—oh, forget it," I said with a roll of my eyes. "Just show me the pad."

Remember how I said that the first thing I was going to do once we got to the L-cave was go back to sleep? It wasn't. I hadn't bothered to do much more with my bags than plant them by the closet for later, or even get out of my sweatshirt and slacks. I just kicked off my sneakers and flopped onto the bed and tried to catch up on sleep, but it never came. That was the sucky thing about getting woken up in the middle of the night: if you were up for long enough, you'd cross the point where you just couldn't fall back asleep, no matter how tired you'd feel. For me, sleep was pretty much out of the question, not with everything going on.

I buried my face into the pillows. For some reason, my insomnia spell made me think about L, and the bags under his eyes. I wondered if he felt like this on a regular basis? Burning the midnight oil straight into the morning light, working on a case, whatever time he could set aside for sleep disrupted by his awareness of the burden that came with his job, until he'd probably decided to cut out sleeping altogether…

I felt kind of sorry for him, to be honest. I don't know why I suddenly felt sorry for him, him with his backwards way of doing things and personality as crummy as the cakes and cookies he gobbled down. I just did. I felt sorry for all of them, really. Myself, included, naturally. In fact, I spent the last hours before the sun came up, thinking about that, as I tossed and turned from one side of my bed to the other.

Huh. Maybe I was starting to get that thing captives got when they started sympathizing with their captors? What'd they call that? Stockholm syndrome?

…

Soon, everyone else had moved into the building, but of course, I couldn't leave my floor to go out and greet them. Only Matsuda went out of his way to come up and see me. I was looking at the city streets spread out below me from my window, bored to practical death, when I heard him knocking.

"Hi, Elin! Can I come in?"

I let him in, and let me say, in that moment I couldn't remember feeling happier to see him. I even threw my crazy arms around him before he'd even crossed the threshold! I heard the poor guy choke a little on the moment of impact as he froze under my touch.

As soon as I caught myself, my face combusted. I quick dropped him out of the hug. "Ah, s-sorry, Matsui," I stammered, a sheepish hand resting on the back of my neck. "It's been a long day, and I missed you."

"It's okay, Elin," Matsuda grinned, his face even redder than mine was. He even started fiddling with his tie. Understandable, I guess. Hugs weren't too appropriate in our relationship, especially since I wouldn't get to see him much anymore, with his new job. Then again, that's probably why I'd hugged him in the first place. God, would I miss him.

"I missed you, too," said Matsuda.

I propped myself up against the doorway. "So, you're Misa's manager, now, huh?"

"Uh-huh. I still can't believe Ryuzaki let me be Misa-Misa's manager! It's incredible!" His eyes twinkled for a moment, only to soften when they saw the look on my face. "Um, not to say that I won't miss you, though," he quickly added.

"Aw, I'm 'onna miss you, too, you big knucklehead!" I gave him a playful punch on the arm. "You and our fun-tastic rides together! Seriously, I hope Misa has as much fun with you as I have." Matsuda was sort of like a cool older brother to me, like Farley, even, but without one jerky bone in his body. At least, from what I'd seen. "No, I don't just hope so; I know she will."

"Don't worry, Elin. Maybe, when I'm not working as Misa's manager, we can still spend time together?" I doubted that. I didn't know much about managing celebrities, except that it must've been a pretty busy occupation. As somewhat scatterbrained as he was, Matsuda would get so wrapped up in his job—both out of obligation and puppyish adoration for Misa—he'd barely have the time to even say "Hi."

But hey. For the umpteenth time, who asked me?

Trying to keep the sadness out of my smile, I told him, "Don't worry about me. You just think about doing your job. You better get going; I don't want to hold you up."

Matsuda arched an eyebrow. "Are you okay? Are you sure you don't need anything?"

"Haha, sure, sure. You're a manager, now, Matsui. Let's see you puff out your chest and act like one."

…

With Matsuda back downstairs, it gave me the opportunity to venture around the place a little, like a gerbil exploring its new cage, its new luxurious, twenty-three-story cage, not counting the two floors below ground—I mean it! The place was a practical rip-off of the Batcave™. After wondering which part of the building I could visit first that was most isolated, I snuck up onto the rooftop, and was glad I had. It was such a nice day out, and the late morning sun felt wonderful on my skin. Not to mention, the city looked kind of tranquil baking underneath it.

It made me feel a bit sorry I couldn't get down there and enjoy the day with everyone else. I almost instantly forgot my feelings, however, when I found a pair of helicopters—yes, helicopters!—sitting on the roof. I hadn't seen the copter pad from on the ground.

Like I'd never seen a helicopter before, I crept over to one of them, daring myself to reach out and touch the body. I barely got a brush when I drew back, waiting for a stupid security alarm to go off. Nothing happened, but I sure didn't stay for much longer than that.

Before long, I was back indoors, sidled up against the wall as I caught my breath…and the guts to sneak into the elevator so I could go lower. I felt kind of like a spy, caught in a deadly tango with the danger of getting caught, except I wasn't sure if spies felt as anxious as I did, palms sweaty and heart racing. Maybe they did?

I wondered if James Bond™ ever felt this way when he started out?

I don't even know why I kept going, when the more rational part of me begged me to turn back while I still could. My eyes stayed trained on the goal…whatever the hell the "goal" was supposed to be. My fingers made a motion as though I were tipping my hat, even though I wasn't wearing it.

Erin, wait! Turn around before someone sees you!

It'll be all right; I'm just gonna be in-and-out. I'm a journalist. Sometimes I've got to take risks.

Yeah, but is this one even NECESSARY? What're trying to accomplish, exactly?

I didn't really have an answer for that one. My ears buzzed so bad, I could hardly hear myself think anymore, like I had a hornet's nest stuck in my head.

Soon I stopped at a room about five, six floors below mine, clamoring inside before anyone could see me go in. Whoever lived in this room left the door unlocked and everything. The room looked about as posh as mine, except it smelled funny. Not bad-funny, more of a spicy, feminine kind of funny, sort of like potpourri from a craft store, or perfume from a department store. The cake and tea sitting on the coffee table helped to enhance the smell. For a sweet, far-too-brief moment, I relaxed.

Until I heard the muffled sound of footsteps from the other side of the wall. Without sparing a minute's worth of thought, I hopped over the couch and scrambled into the bathroom, cowering behind the door as I left it ajar. The bathroom smelled even stronger than the den, almost intoxicating. Also, I figured out who lived in this suite as my uneasy gaze darted around. I noticed a couple lacy bras, stockings, and a slip dangling in the shower stall.

Misa. This had to be Misa's room, then. Besides me, there was only one girl in the group. The style of the underwear was sort of a tip-off, too. Apparently, Misa had a penchant for spider webs and skulls and stuff like that.

Sure enough, though, I saw Misa march in from my crack in the door, her hand gripping Light's wrist in almost the same way L's handcuff did around his other. Of course, L followed suit, as listless as he'd ever looked…and more?

"Well, you guys aren't doing anything, so Misa sees no reason why Light can't take a break! Even if we have to let Ryuzaki stay," she said with a scowl. L didn't say a word. His eyes stayed trained on the snacks waiting for them on the coffee table. I quick ducked away from the crack. Did he see me? Did any of them see me?

Oh please don't have to use the bathroom, oh please don't have to use the bathroom, oh please don't have to use the bathroom—

No one had to use the bathroom. The three of them made themselves comfortable on the sofas on either side of the table: Light and L on one, Misa parallel to Light on the other. For a while, that's all they did: sit there and stare at one another in a silence thick with tension. From who towards whom, I couldn't tell. The only sounds in the room were my own shallow breathing and L's grunting as he made swift work of his piece of cake. Forget detecting; why didn't he just sign up as a competitive eater? He'd have been the king.

I don't know how long we all stayed that way, but judging by the way my legs had started to fall asleep underneath me, I figured it to be too long. But at the same time, I didn't really want them to move. I'd be dog meat if any of them got up to use the bathroom.

Although…whose fault would that be, really?

Misa sat cross-legged, her cheek resting in her hand. She took it upon herself to break the silence: "Hey, this doesn't feel very much like a date." You didn't know that when you dragged the boys into your room, Misa? L was like a black hole, sucking whatever romantic mood she'd been in clean out of the atmosphere.

L still had his fork protruding out of his mouth. I swear, the guy had some kind of oral fixation; he always had to have either something going in his mouth (i.e. his finger, junk food), or coming out (i.e. words). "No, no, please, don't mind me. By the way, are you going to eat that piece of cake?" He pointed at Misa's slice. I bet that was why he hadn't argued about having Light pulled away from work. There would be cake.

"Cake makes you fat. I'm trying to avoid it." Not sure why being fat concerned her so much; the girl was a doll in terms of figure. A doll with a perky Goth twist.

L tapped on his head. "Actually, I've found that you won't gain any weight as long as you burn the calories by using your brain." Oh, so that was his secret to keeping that string bean physique? What do you know? I actually got something out of this stupid espionage escapade, after all. Here I was, thinking the glutton had a radioactive metabolism or something.

I could see Misa's pigtails prickle, as though they had turned into horns on top of her head. "Ah! So now you're making fun of Misa? Fine! I'll give you the piece of cake if you leave me and Light alone!" Forget it, Misa. Negotiating with L was like kicking a cinder block: only you'd get the broken toes.

"Even if I leave you alone, I'd still be watching on the surveillance cameras. So it wouldn't make any difference."

Cameras…

Oh, crap! Erin, you jackass! How could you forget the cameras? The others had probably seen me sneak down to Misa's floor! The only reason they hadn't burst in yet to drag me out must've been because Misa and Light were right there. It'd look worse for them than I'd already made it. If I hadn't been too scared to move, that would've made one of the best face-palm moments ever.

"You pervert! Can you stop it with your creepy hobby?" barked Misa, lurching forward.

L? He just rose up from his monkey-crouch to swipe the plate off the table, somehow managing to keep the fork in his mouth as he told Misa, "You can call me whatever you like. I'm still taking your cake." Spoiled brat.

As he nestled back into his crouch, I saw a devilish grin crawl over Misa's face. "All right, then. I'll just close the curtains and turn off the lights."

Unshaken, L replied, "The cameras detect infrared, as well."

Misa looked about ready to rip that fork out of his mouth and gut him with it. What'd I tell you, Misa? Like kicking a cinder block.

Somehow, watching these three kind of reminded me of this dumb play I learned about in school, the one with the three jerks stuck in a room in Hell with no exit. Except instead of two girls and a guy, I had two guys and a girl.

Light, who hadn't said much of anything since this "date" had started, finally spoke up, but not necessarily in his girl's defense. "What's wrong with you? I thought moving here was supposed to help us catch Kira. But since we've been here, you haven't seemed all that motivated to me."

L cocked his fork in mid-air. "Not motivated?"

Pause.

Something tinged his voice. Oh, he still sounded pretty listless, but this was a different kind of listless. A kind I was well-acquainted with, that I never would've guessed that someone of the likes of him would ever experience.

"You're right. Actually, I'm depressed."

Light and Misa perked up in curiosity. I know I did. "Depressed? What for?"

L took a forkful of cake and shoveled it into his mouth. "Well," he mumbled between bites, "truthfully, all this time, I thought that you were Kira, and my entire case was based on that." He gulped. "I guess I just can't get past the fact that my deduction was wrong. Of course, I'm still suspicious of you…hence why we're wearing these." The chain softly rattled as he raised his wrist to display the handcuff.

After only one bite, he put the plate down. That's how I got a clue on how down he really felt. Then he started rolling his head around, like he was having a hard time holding it up. Which, considering how hugene his ego was, wasn't that surprising. "Then again, Kira can control people's actions…"

Suddenly, I found my hands pressing down on my head. WHAT? Kira could do WHAT?

I began to wonder if maybe there were some things I'd been better off not knowing, no matter how fantastic the stories behind them could be.

"…which means that it's highly likely that Kira was controlling your actions so that I would suspect you, since you've been involved with the NPA and therefore could access their information. If I assume that you and Misa were being controlled by him, everything we've observed so far would make much more sense to me...except perhaps the part about you two still being alive," he muttered as he placed his chin on his knees.

"If that's what you think," said Light, "Misa and I were both Kira in the time we were being controlled, right?"

"Yes. I don't think I could've been wrong about that. Both of you are Kira."

I could just feel the hostility between the three of them piling up with every word and pause they shared. I, on the other hand, had no idea how I felt except that I'd begun to tremble. So…they had been killing? They'd just been brainwashed into doing it? Forget action; this was starting to sound like something out of a bad horror flick.

"According to my theory, when your confinement began, you were Kira. I don't find it coincidence that as soon as we imprisoned you, the killings stopped. Until then, everything pointed to you being Kira. But after two weeks, criminals began dying again." Oh, now he tells them the truth?

"Based on that, I can only conclude…that Kira's power passes between people."

Light seemed thoughtful. "Interesting idea. But if that's the case, then it'll be nearly impossible to catch him." I was impressed just by how seemingly well he'd taken being lied to during confinement.

"Yes. That's why I'm overwhelmed," moaned L. "Even if we catch someone under his control, they will likely lose their powers, along with any memory of their crimes. In the end, the pursuit becomes futile."

Light reached over to place a hand on L's shoulder, in the name of good old camaraderie, however short-lived it'd turn out to be. "But right now, we have no way of knowing if that's the case. Cheer up, would you?"

L glanced at his handcuff-mate. "Cheer up? No, I'm sorry, I can't. It's probably better if I stop trying so hard." He hooked a finger into his mouth and shifted his gaze towards the ceiling. "By chasing Kira so desperately, we're only putting our lives at risk for nothing. Yes. It's just a waste of time," he sighed, resting his eyes back on the plate of half-eaten cake on the table.

I couldn't remember another time when I wanted so much to jump out there and give old L a noogie…unless I counted the time I'd actually done it. Look, it wasn't that I didn't feel sorry for him. As someone who barked up the wrong tree on a regular basis, it was hard not to feel at least a bit sorry for the next guy who'd just made a fool out of himself, no matter how crummy he was. In fact, his depression was about every bit as much my problem as it was his, Light's, and everyone else's.

How? Simple: L had told me that he wouldn't let me go until he'd caught Kira. Now, right before my eyes, he was turning yellow. If he went yellow on us, the investigation wouldn't move forward. If the investigation didn't move forward, Kira would never be caught. If Kira was never caught, then I'd be stuck here forever. Well, that, and more and more people would continue to die needlessly, in Japan and elsewhere around the world. That mattered, too.

What happened to the nut-cracker who'd forced me to have dinner with him and hadn't let me leave since? Where'd he go? "World's Wonder Detective Turns Into A Weenie"…a calamity, for God's sake! And for what? Because his one little deduction had missed the mark?

Which is why, while I couldn't say I completely agreed with what Light did in response, I sort of did agree. Old L was cruisin' for a bruisin'. He'd been begging to have his ass kicked for a while, but much more so now than ever, if that was possible. All of a sudden, Light rose from the couch, looking pretty decided. My gut wrenched into balloon animals when I saw him raise his fist, higher than he should've. Unless...

"Ryuzaki?"

L looked up. For a guy who acted like he had ESP, he walked right into it.

WHACK!

Holy smokes, right in his kisser! Who'd have thought Light had it in him!

The air shattered almost like it had when I'd heard that blank all those days before, as L flew clean across the room, limbs flailing, dragging Light along with him: what you get for deciding to take a swing at a guy you were handcuffed to. In that one moment, Misa's living room exploded into a battlefield! Table flipping over, potted plants fainting on impact, dishes shattered, poor old Misa squealing in horror as she staggered away…only to squeal even more when she heard a soft squishing under her feet. Turned out she stepped on the cake.

She grimaced, as though she had stepped in a hot pile of dog crap. While Misa frantically wiped at the bottom of her foot, I struggled to get back on my feet. In all the ruckus, I assumed that they hadn't heard me yelp and land on my ass. In the meantime, L sat up against the wall, passing Light a blank, lopsided look. He looked like a broken doll from his place on the floor; I thought I could even see a blackish-blue bruise already forming on his upper jaw, where Light had socked him.

"That hurt," he said, in his normal deadpan way, like he hadn't just been launched across the room off of Light's knuckles.

"Don't fuck with me! You don't feel like doing anything, just because your genius deduction was wrong and I'm not Kira?" The growl in Light's voice, a kind of growl I had never before heard from him, had me holding on to the doorknob like a life-line. I wasn't even in this brawl, and I was still flinching all over.

L wiped his mouth with his forearm. "Fine, perhaps I phrased that the wrong way," he muttered. "I meant that it would be pointless for us to make a move, so we shouldn't even bother—"

Light roared right over him, "If we don't chase Kira, he'll never be caught! Is that what you want? You're the one who said that you wouldn't rest until you sent Kira to his execution! If you were just going to give up, then why did you involve all of those innocent people?"

Yeah, like me, I thought, too paralyzed to put it to words, or even to take the time to feel indignant. I saw Light storm over to L's crooked form and hoist him up by the shirt.

He practically screamed in his face: "More importantly, what was the point of putting Misa and me behind bars?"

I couldn't see L's face; Light was sort of blocking it with his intimidating stance. I had to strain my ears just to hear L's reply.

"I understand." He was much quieter than Light, for sure, not nonetheless dark and dangerous. This was almost the same tone he'd used on me when I'd said he couldn't keep me around until Kira was caught. "But still…whatever the reason…"

Remember how I'd said that L was missing martial arts skills? Well…

BAM!

One second, he'd been dangling by the collar of his shirt. The next, he dipped backward, hoisting up his leg with a kind of grace that I'd have never guessed he had, what with how he didn't look like he could fight his way out of a paper bag. I don't know what the hell fighting style that was, exactly. Karate? Kung fu? Capoeira? All I knew of was the explosion of cartilage against bone as Light took his turn getting catapulted across the room off the ball of L's heel.

"An eye for an eye, my friend," I thought I heard Fuzzy say.

At that point, Misa had decided to duck behind the upset coffee table as a kind of makeshift shelter from the fray. My sentiments, exactly; I found it a miracle I hadn't gone and pissed my pants. And yet…as shaken up as I was, I couldn't help but marvel at the way those two soared back and forth, limbs flying out in all directions, the rattle of the handcuffs drowned out by their hollering their heads off as they crash-landed into the sofa, easily toppling it over on its back with their combined force. I'd have to use a run-on sentence just to try describing the show unfolding in front of me!

For the record, it wasn't that I condoned violence. I didn't, honest, I didn't. Save fighting for the flicks. Yet, for all the confusion and pent-up hostilities pouring out in fists and feet, there was something kind of fascinating about the way those two moved. I don't know, maybe it's a biological thing: two tough guys rumble, while Misa and I, female bystanders, feel compelled to watch them, maybe even cheer them on, some. Not out loud, naturally, and not really for either of them, in particular; they both left me in awe.

That's the only explanation I can come up with for that. Why do the most fascinating things have to be things you don't want to be fascinating?

In the meanwhile, L assumed a gargoyle crouch on the upturned couch cushions, supporting himself on his hands, something mildly predatory in the way he glared at his sparring partner as he hissed, "It's not my deduction that was wrong. I can say that Light Yagami is Kira, and Misa Amane is the Second Kira. But it won't be enough to solve the case, and that's why I'm a little depressed. Is that really so unreasonable?"

This is the same guy who once tried to lecture me about how emotions caused problems, when I made that big stink about what he did to Light, Misa and Mr. Yagami. Maybe it's not unreasonable to get depressed about stuff, but you can't talk like that from one side of your mouth and then pardon yourself on the other side when you're guilty of the same thing you're condemning.

While L hissed, Light roared, "Yes, it is unreasonable! You should listen to yourself! It's as if you won't be satisfied unless I am Kira!" I didn't know too much about their relationship, but something told me that the blood between these two was pretty sour, at best. Why bother working with somebody you couldn't even get along with, at least, enough to not want to kill each other?

"…I won't be satisfied unless you are Kira?" L echoed darkly. "There may be some truth to that." As he rose up, so did Light, as though they were charging up for round two. "In fact, now that you've mentioned it…you're right. I think I wanted you to be Kira."

The truth floweth forth, huh?

POW!

This time, I wasn't just in awe; I was dumbfounded. Light lodged his fist right into L's eye socket, trying to paint his eye even blacker than it already was. But this time, L didn't fly, probably because he had seen this blow coming. He stood planted right where he was standing, no matter how hard Light pressed, like a frail little tree against the wind.

Huh, maybe he wasn't such a weenie, after all?

He grunted, "Like I said before, an eye for an eye. I'm a lot stronger than I look, you know." He whirled right around, like a dancer or something, as he treated Light's face to a second helping of heel.

But Light was just as tough. He quickly bounced back from the recoil as he yanked L closer to him by the chain of their handcuffs. Soon they were locked in a kind of battle stance—sort of artistic in a twisted way—the fabric of their shirts balled up in one another's fists while they raised their other fists over their heads, each of them ready to paint the room with blood, bone and brains as Misa and I looked on from the safety of cowardice—

—until the phone rang.

L immediately released Light, Light doing the same, as he crouched over by the phone, which had somehow managed to survive the brawl.

Pinching the receiver up to his ear by its top end, he said, "Yes? Oh, I see."

Click!

He hung it up. Except he didn't just place it into the cradle, like most people would. He let it drop into place, like a stone or a bowling ball.

As if they hadn't just been getting ready to kill each other, Light asked, "Who was that?" I mean it. Boys. I couldn't figure them out, sometimes. And they say us chicks are crazy.

"Matsuda's being stupid, again," said L dismissively.

"Hm. Well, that is his specialty."

Then the stupidest, worst possible thing happened.

I sneezed. Twice.

It must've been the smell of the bathroom; it'd been making my nose twitch something awful. I tried my best to hold in the first one, my eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. My dad had always told me that I shouldn't hold back a sneeze; "it's a surefire way to give yourself a stroke." I would agree with that if it weren't for the fact that I always seemed to sneeze at the wrong time.

Sure enough, my head throbbed. I guess I didn't get a stroke; instead, I got so distracted by the pain that I'd lost all my bearings to hold back the second one.

"A-CHOO!"

I had a lousy sneeze. Mine was the kind that, if I stood on top of the Alps or something, and I did it, would reduce the whole damn mountain to a pile of rubble and snow. It could've been my imagination, but I could hear it echo all across the bathroom, the whole suite, the entire floor, for Christ's sake, bouncing off the walls like jeers.

"Bless you."

"Th-that wasn't Misa, Light."

Bus-ted!

The one time the guys finally listened to me, I hadn't wanted them to. Irony sucks.

I tried to cram myself into Misa's linen closet when I heard the three of them heading towards the bathroom, like how I used to cram myself into the linen closet when I was a kid for kicks. I didn't have much space to work with, this time, though: one of the many drawbacks to growing up.

I knew the jig was up and everything, but that didn't keep me from staring petrified up at the three of them as soon as Misa had torn open the closet, sending me tumbling to the floor on my knees. Was this how a rabbit felt when snarling wolves had it backed into the corner?

The room had suddenly become too hot to bear.

"Uh…don't mind me." I waved at them, while my other hand tugged at the collar of my shirt. "Heh-heh, me, I'm just, uhm…coming out of the closet?"


	11. Buddies

For the longest time none of us said a word, whatever shock that conquered us conveyed more than adequately enough on our faces. Except L's of course, because his affect never changed, or if it ever had I hadn't noticed.

Clinging to the knob to the door of the linen closet, I somehow found it in me to stagger back onto my feet. I didn't let go though. My legs wobbled like two pillars of jelly, like any minute now they'd give out under me. With my other hand, I made a shaky salute. "Hey. How's it going?" I squeaked, hoping they wouldn't notice the pellet of sweat rolling down my temple.

Light then turned to L, his eyes narrowing at him in almost the same way they had when they'd started their rumble. "Ryuzaki, who's this?" he demanded.

I heard L grunt, a habit of his that I'd come to learn signaled when he'd been put in a foul mood or a tight spot. I guess even hot-shot detectives could get stuck sometimes. "A nuisance. That's who," he mumbled.

Misa seemed more genuinely confused than miffed. She placed a finger on her blossom-pink lips. "No seriously, Ryuzaki, who is she? Is she a friend of yours?"

Did she just ask if we were friends? Well Misa, I wouldn't go so far as to call us that...

"Why didn't you tell us there was another girl living here? I don't think we've been introduced." She held out a hand and a friendly smile. "My name's Misa-Misa! And this is Light!" She leaned over to snake an arm through Light's. I couldn't quite tell from the look on his face, but he didn't look too happy with the gesture.

I saw L's shoulders slump, even deeper than they usually did. "Light, Misa, this is—"

"Hey-hey-hey-hey! Why can't I introduce myself, for once?" I said, conveniently forgetting what he was capable of with those legs of his. I don't know how, but I managed to ignore him for long enough so I could bow and shake Light's and Misa's hands. "Name's Crocker, Elin Crocker. Anuisance is only my middle name!" I chuckled, mostly because chuckling felt a hell of a lot better than the alternative.

Although…that last part was kind of a dumb thing to say. Then again, so was telling them my alias (I should say L's alias, really). It couldn't be helped, but something didn't feel right in giving them a fake name. It left my tongue flinching in my mouth when it rolled off it, like I'd just tasted something nasty. Toe-jam-with-bleu-cheese kind of nasty.

"Hi, Elin!" cheered Misa. "Are you part of the team, too?"

"She's not," L cut in. "Miss Crocker is a protected witness. Or at least, that was the intention."

I really didn't like the way he looked at me; I had to turn away just to avoid his gaze, but even then, I could feel it drilling through one side of my head and out the other. We were all under the same roof; it would've only been a matter of time before they'd learned about me. Why not get it over with sooner? Besides, what could they possibly do to me that L had wanted to prevent? They weren't Kira.

Not now, at least…

"A witness? Oh, wow! What did you witness, Elin?" asked Misa.

I shrugged. "Nothing. All I did was see you get arrested. I tried to be civil about it with him, but he wouldn't hear it, so here I am." I didn't want any of them to see how anxious I really was, especially when I thought I felt L's gaze sharpen even further. If that was possible. What, had he not wanted me to say that? He started it.

"Oh wow, you're saying he kidnapped you, too?" Misa chirped in disbelief. "Boy, does Misa know how that feels."

Light? He looked me over for a moment or two, then turned back to L, scowling. "You really don't trust me, do you?" he growled. His fists clenched until I could see the color draining out of them.

L returned the glare, nonetheless relentless. "Otherwise we wouldn't need these," he answered, the chain rattling as he held up his wrist once again.

"Really? Kidnapping an innocent bystander just for seeing something you didn't want seen? That's a little extreme even for you, don't you think?"

"If I could pay her off instead, I would have."

Off they went again, bickering like a married couple. A very, very angry married couple. It looked like they were already gearing up for round two so I somehow mustered enough guts to step in between them.

Ding-ding-ding! Jer-RY! Jer-RY! Jer-RY! 

"Whoa whoa, fellas, fellas! Back into your corners!" I said with a lopsided smile, doing everything I could to keep my eyes on Light as much—and on L as least—as possible. Light didn't exactly look his friendliest at the moment but he didn't scare me nearly as much as L did.

"How's about we cool it for a sec, huh? I'm not worth fighting over." If anything that made me sound like a bigger shmuck, because truth be told they weren't scrapping over me. They were just looking for a reason to keep duking it out, more than anything. Things between them were sour, that much I could figure. Why, I wasn't so sure of. Regardless, I wasn't about to let them go back to whooping each other, not in the bathroom, not when I had no way of escape, first.

Like I'd said before, I wasn't much of a diplomat. But it wouldn't hurt to try, I figured. Hopefully. Not too much. Taking a deep breath, I reached out my hand to touch both their shoulders like I was reaching out to touch live wires. Like a geek from the bomb squad trying to defuse a two-man detonator. I kept my eyes mostly trained on the wall. That probably didn't help my cause but I couldn't do it if I was looking at either of them.

"We're all under the same roof, for the same reason: to catch Kira, right? I know we're in a rut and tensions right now are…pretty high. But come on! We're all adults here, aren't we? Quit your thumb-sucking!"

It just so happened that L was sucking his thumb, like he always did. I caught a glimpse of him pausing to stare vacantly at me. Then at his thumb. Then back at me.

Gulping, I waved a hand. "Oh, you know what I mean! Listen, all I'm asking is can't we all just get it together and get along? Enough so we don't end up killing each other before Kira gets the chance, at least? Can't we all be buddies here?"

Guess what kind of response I got for my efforts?

A swat. From Misa.

She pulled Light as far away as the chain would allow, clinging to his torso like a koala, pouting at me the entire time. "Not that I don't agree with you, Elin, but I don't think we need any of that to prove your point," she told me. For a second there, I had no idea what the hell she'd meant by "that." But when I did figure it out, I felt myself go blank, no clue on how to feel about it.

Apparently, Misa was the possessive type. But then, what was my first clue?

Go figure: I stick out my neck to help calm things down, make things more civilized, and I get swatted for it. I held my head in my hand, pursing my lips so they wouldn't see me grinding my teeth.

I huffed. All that diplomacy I'd opened a vein for flew right out the window: "All right, you know what? Don't mind me. You wanna knock each other's brains out? Go ahead! Who knows? You might even feel better, afterwards. Your egos could certainly stand some deflating!"

I stormed out of there, afterwards. Well, no, actually, I squirmed out of the bathroom first along the wall, past Misa and Light and L. Then I stormed out of the room. Not my most graceful exit, but I sure didn't feel like sticking around. Not with all the trouble I was already in.

…

Back in my own room—where I should've stayed, the whole time—I'd settled into bed, waiting for someone, any of them, to come up to chew me out. I had the sheets over my head as cover from those dumb surveillance cameras, under there so they couldn't see me tearing up. Pathetic, I know. Only little kids got torn up over things like that, but at least no one thought any less of them for it.

Stop it, Erin. Bawling's not going to make anything better, especially since you sort of brought this upon yourself. Pull on your big-girl panties and deal with it! 

I had enough panties to stop bawling, but not quite enough to come out from under the covers just yet. Finally, came the moment I'd been anticipating: knocking on my door.

Wait, L wasn't going to come up here to chew me out, himself? Maybe not, not with Light around. "Who is it?"

"It's me, Matsui. Are you okay?"

That got me squirming out of bed. Brushing a couple stray strands of hair behind my ear, I opened the door only ajar to peer out at Matsuda through the crack. "I dunno. Define 'okay.' You don't have to say anything, Matsui. I already know. I already know you saw me."

Matsuda scratched his head. "Uh…yeah, we did." Like it pained him to say so. "But—I'm sorry, but—y-you really shouldn't have done that. Sneak into Misa-Misa's room." Guy was only saying the obligatory.

"Yeah, yeah, I know that, now. I made my bed, now I'm lying in it. So, what am I in for?"

"Huh?"

I folded my arms. "What's my punishment? There's no way Ryuzaki would let this go without cracking my nuts, first." Thinking back to what I'd said before I'd left Misa's room, I found it a blue-eyed wonder he hadn't kicked me or anything. But I knew better. He wouldn't let me off the hook. He never let anyone off the hook.

"Oh. Yeah, that." Matsuda shifted his eyes in all directions, like he didn't want to see my reaction when he'd break the bad news. "Um…I guess he's probably going to revoke your E-mail privileges. I mean, just for a while! I-I'm really sorry, Elin."

I shook my head. "Don't be. It's my fault for being stupid, and it's Ryuzaki's fault for thinking that cutting me off from my family's gonna fix anything." I opened a door a little wider so I could lean in on my buddy. "Between you and me," I whispered, "I think Light and Misa would've found out about me sooner or later. I'm kind of glad that we've gotten that over with sooner. For the most part."

Matsuda looked at me like he had no idea what I was talking about. I didn't blame him. Besides, he looked kind of precious when he was confused. I never told him that, of course. Rookies don't do that to each other. They shouldn't, anyway, not if they wanted to be taken seriously.

I thought for a minute. "Hey, if there's any bright side to this, at least I can go wherever I want, now."

"Well, um, I wouldn't say that. That still depends on Ryuzaki."

I couldn't help but sink, a little. Of course. Everything had to depend on him.

"Matsui? They're not still going at it, are they? They're not still trying to bash each other's brains out…are they?"

Matsuda sighed, "No, thank goodness. They've stopped. I can't say that tensions have smoothed out, though…"

I rubbed my knuckles against my shirt. "I'm guessing that's because of me, right?"

"Maybe. But…they've kind of always been like that, since day one. They've got a pretty weird relationship. At one point, Ryuzaki even said that Light was his first-ever friend. But they haven't acted very much like friends—aw, that's just me. No two friendships are alike, and friends do fight, sometimes…"

Okay, what? Watari had told me not too long ago that L had no friends at all. Why would he go tell Light something like that, especially when he considered him a suspect? Maybe it was just another backwards tactic of his, in order to get closer to the "enemy?" Did he do that to every suspect? Or just everybody in general?

A tiny lump began to grow in my throat. Boy, it seemed that the more I learned about L, the more pitiful he sounded, not as a detective, but as a plain human being. Funny thing, the more pitiful he sounded, the sorrier I grew for him. Not that that excused him and his PS, of course. I mean, just because he was miserable, didn't give him the right to make everyone else miserable. That was his fault. Maybe not completely his fault, but a solid half of it, I figured.

On the outside, I shuddered. "Boy, if what they got going on is what they call 'friendship,' I'd hate to see how they treat their enemies."

…

Guess who came to call a while after Matsuda?

"Yeah?" Upon opening the door, I found Misa bouncing up and down out in the hall.

"Hi, Elin!" she cheered, only to have her face fall a tiny bit. "Listen, sorry about swatting you earlier," she said, digging her toes into the floor as she swayed back and forth. "Misa doesn't have anything against you. Really. But see, Light is Misa's boyfriend. It's bad enough that that pervert Ryuzaki insists on being chained to him all the time; Misa would rather not have other girls getting cozy with him, on top of it."

I looked kind of funny at her. "No…it's okay. That's, uh, understandable. I guess." Honestly, I still couldn't see what I'd done wrong; all I'd done was touch his shoulder. But hey, at least Misa was apologizing. If someone said "Sorry" and meant it, that paid the bill for me. After all, that was way more than what I'd come to expect out of certain other people.

"You probably didn't know that Light was Misa's, so I'll let you go, this time. But I mean it: if Misa sees you pull any funny business with him, you will get in trouble," she warned, wagging a manicured finger under my nose. "More trouble than you know. Are we clear on that?"

I didn't think I could ever get in more trouble than I was already in, just by being here and all, but I didn't feel like arguing with Misa. So I gave a salute. "Clear as spit. So, now that that's out of the way, can I ask what's in the bag?" She had a bag with her; looked like something along the lines of a make-up bag, but it never hurt to ask.

"Weeell," trilled Misa, "Misa had a little time to think about it: it wasn't fair for us to get off to such a bumpy start, so I want to make up for it. You're the only other girl around here, so Misa thinks we should be friends!"

Never before had I met someone who abused the first- and third-person perspective as heavily as this girl did; she flogged them. She kinda reminded me of Jar-Jar™, to be honest, that one alien-guy that nobody liked. But I could overlook that. She was otherwise pretty cute in her own way, and she did want to make up. Besides, what kind of moron would I be to turn down an offer of quality time with a celebrity? A celebrity, for Christ's sake? I hadn't even had to break my neck to get it.

I mirrored her grin. "Yeah. You and me against the sausage fest," I said, throwing the door open to invite her in. "Come on in! Mi casa es tu casa!"

Misa cocked her head to the side, blinking. "What's that mean? Is that French or something?"

"Uh, no? It's Spanish. It means, 'Make yourself at home,' pretty much."

Misa skipped inside. "Oh, I see. That didn't sound very much like French, anyway. Misa is trying to learn French when she has the time; it sounds so romantic, how some of the words sound like kissing noises. Light est la seule pour moi." She puckered her lips to accentuate the sound of her words. "Sometimes Misa likes to talk to Light in French, to help him get in the mood. It appeals to his more intellectual side, I think." As the two of us sat down on the couch, she started to open up the bag with a slight frown. "I haven't gotten to do that with him much lately, though. I haven't done much of anything romantic with him, not since that lowbrow Ryuzaki came into the picture."

I wondered if she knew who "Ryuzaki" really was. Should I have told her? Nah, she might not have believed me, if I did. Hell, did she even remember ever seeing me out on the street? I doubted it. She didn't look like the type to remember faces she'd only seen one time in a bump-in out on the town.

"Lowbrow" hit the nail on the head, though. Definitely. Or "No-brow," if you wanted to get technical.

I saw her take out a couple brushes, decorative bands, pins, and other things one could use to do up their hair. I should've guessed that hair and make-up would be involved. She gingerly took my braid into her fingers. "Elin, has anyone ever told you that you have nice hair?"

I found myself blushing a bit. "Not really. But thank you." Unless, of course, I counted how Farley once described it: "a dark and luscious crap-brown." "Has anyone ever told you that yours is nice? Because it is."

"Aw, thank you! I never get tired of hearing that! You know? I think yours would look great wavy! Would you like that, Elin?" I didn't answer her, right away. I had nothing in particular against stuff like dolling up hair; I just didn't do it that often, having generally been more concerned about just keeping it out of the way. You have to be in the mood for stuff like that, and I wasn't exactly in the mood to have her mess around with my hair. I wasn't sure I had a choice, though.

I shrugged. "I'm cool with anything you've got in mind, so long as you don't make it corny."

Misa clapped with delight. "Okay! I know exactly what to do with it! This is gonna be so much fun!" As she knelt behind me and started to undo my braid, lock by lock, she said, "By the way, you were right to say that, about Ryuzaki's ego needing to get deflated. I think it does, too. He keeps calling me the Second Kira when I'm obviously not!"

Okay, if that wasn't enough to clue her in on Ryuzaki's true identity, I decided not to bother. I didn't really want to talk about Kira or the case, anyway. We'd done enough of that for one day.

"But Light's ego's fine, the way it is, make no mistake about it," she insisted. "You know, you should let your hair down more often…"

"You sure like Light a lot, don't you?"

"No way! Misa doesn't just like him! Misa loves him, with all of her heart! Misa loves having Light as a boyfriend!" she said dreamily. I couldn't see what she was doing, but I had to admit, she seemed pretty good with her hands. Not once did she tug at my hair or get her fingers caught in it, something that usually happened when I tried to do my hair on my own. I wondered if she did her own hair, being a model and all. I didn't get to ask, though.

"Do you have a boyfriend, Elin?" she asked me from out of the blue. I may have been a girl but I couldn't say that girl-talk was one of my strong points. Eh, couldn't hurt to try it some. Not like I had anything else going for me, at the moment.

"Uhm…no." I said that more like a question than an answer as I twiddled my thumbs in the space between my legs. I have a habit of doing that with my "no's," especially in response to an uncomfortable question. "You can call me a single lady."

"Do you want one?"

"No, thanks."

Misa stopped fiddling with my hair. "Aw, come on, you're lying!" she said, as though I had broken an unwritten law by not only lacking a boyfriend, but also by lacking the desire for one. "You don't need to lie to Misa! Why, Misa could play matchmaker for you, if you want!"

Even though she was behind me, I shook my hand out in front of me. "No, seriously, it's cool, Misa. If I wanted a boyfriend, I would've gone looking for one myself. That's how I roll." I liked boys. I liked boys as much as the next girl, even if they confused me sometimes. But hey, being a college kid who had just started to see the world, I couldn't say I had what it took to settle down yet. I wanted to hang on to my freedom for as long as I could (at least, whatever freedom that L hadn't taken from me). You know, make something out of myself before sharing it with someone else. Besides, I got in enough trouble all by myself. I didn't really want a guy to drag down, or to drag me down.

(Besides still, even if I wanted a boyfriend, I don't think I would've had much luck finding one. Guys weren't interested in girls who couldn't be taken seriously, not for really, honestly and truly. And if one did have a girl like that on his arm, that was probably because he couldn't be taken seriously either.)

I didn't tell Misa any of this, of course. I didn't want to hurt her feelings, but it's not the best idea to rely on matchmakers. Sure, they might mean well, but there's always the bias thing: their taste in men could be entirely different from yours. I mean, they could end up hooking you up to who they'd call the best guy on the planet, when he could very well turn out to be the biggest slob of the era, even if he dressed nice.

"Ohhh, I get it. Do you like girls?"

"N-no! Where the hey'd you get that idea?"

"Well, you said that you were 'coming out of the closet,'" she said innocently. "The fact that you were in my closet kinda raises eyebrows, too."

I tugged on the collar of my shirt, like I was suddenly breaking out into a fever. "I swear, I was just messing around! I was bored, and Ryuzaki was being a you-know-what, and—not saying there's anything wrong with liking girls, but trust me, Misa: I like guys. Just not enough to have one around, all the time. At least, not now. B-besides," I said, "I don't think you could hook me up with anyone from here because I'm not from here. Sooner or later, I'll have to go back home..."

Whenever that may be. As in, whenever L has enough sense to let me go.

"And I don't think a long-distance relationship would work out. Saves me some heartache not to get into one of those."

"How can you say something won't work out if you don't try it? And isn't it better to have loved and lost than never love at all? If you asked me, if I could pick the way I'll die I would prefer to die out of love. It's such a lovely and noble way to go, don't you think, for someone you love?"

...

Oooo-kay. I thought we were talking about relationships, not about how dying of a broken heart would be such a nice way to go. But Misa was entitled to her views, however iffy. That's probably one of the biggest mistakes you can make, hear someone talk like that and not take it that seriously.

"And another thing: I thought matchmakers did their job so the girl can find a husband. I don't feel much like getting married, right now. Right now, I'm looking out for numero uno."

Misa paused again. "Is that more Spanish?"

I started to nod, but Misa held my head in place so I couldn't screw up her progress. "Sure is: number one, me, myself and I." I really needed to stop confusing her with gratuitous foreign languages. I was still working on my Japanese, for Christ's sake. Sometimes, though, I found myself wondering why I tried so hard if everyone on the team could speak English, anyway. They'd certainly done a better job at learning than I had.

Misa didn't seem to buy it. "You don't mean that. No one wants to be alone forever; they shouldn't, anyway. It can be a pretty miserable life when you're married to your job and whatnot. Just look at Ryuzaki. He's a train-wreck." I would've asked her if that was a smart thing to bad-mouth L like that, when he was probably watching as we spoke. But if I did that, that'd have made me a hypocrite.

"Whoa, who said anything about forever?"

All of a sudden, Misa leaned into my ear to tell me a secret—felt kind of like an honor, in a way, considering her status and all. "You know what I'm gonna do once this whole Kira thing is resolved? I'm thinking of quitting modeling so I can marry Light. Then Misa will have all she's ever wanted and live happily ever after as a normal girl," she giggled.

I was confused. "But…I've always heard that you were a Kira supporter. Why would you want him caught if you supported him?"

Misa huffed as though I'd just asked her how two and two could make four. "Misa does support Kira, and would like to meet him someday so she can thank him for delivering justice to the man who killed Misa's parents. But that's not true love. Light is my true love. Misa would do anything for him."

She seemed like a very romantic girl. The way she'd said that so hopefully, like she really believed in it…that killed me. I didn't know much about celebrities, but they seemed like pretty lonely people, no matter how renowned they were, when I really took the time to look at them. Lacking a family on top of it sounded even worse (obviously, by looking at L).

Again, I went out on a limb, but maybe that explained why Misa was so possessive of Light? In her mind, he really was all she had left? Everybody should have other people in their life that mean something to them; I'm not saying otherwise. But no one person should be made the center of your entire freaking universe, not the way Misa did to Light. Too much pressure, for one. For another, they can always let you down, whether they'd meant to or not. Oh, Light seemed like an all right guy, for the most part, but he acted kind of standoffish around Misa, by boyfriend standards, at least. Did she notice that? Or did she not care?

I would've asked her about her family, but would it have shelled out painful memories if I did? I never could handle meltdowns very well, not even my own. Especially not my own. That would be a topic for another time.

I felt Misa peek over my shoulder. "What's wrong? You're so quiet, all of a sudden."

I blinked myself out of my trance. "Huh, what? Oh, sorry, I-I kinda spaced out, for a minute there. I do that a lot. ADD and whatnot. Anyway, that sounds like a pretty, uh, nice thing to look forward to: a married life with Light."

"You say that like that's not really a nice thing. Unless…you want Light for yourself."

"What? No! No, no, no, that's not it. I hardly even know the fella!" I meant it, too. "Settling down sounds nice and all, but—um…"

I wanted to say, "Why rush it?" Seriously. Misa was about as old as I was, for God's sake. Why get married so young, and quit her job, on top of it?

Already in the back of my mind, I was starting to doubt this friendship. Why bother talking to a girl if she was just going to keep accusing me of moving in on her boyfriend? That made about as much sense as what L was doing with Light. It pissed me off, but on the other hand, it sort of made me feel sorrier for her. Only went to show how insecure she was, beneath the surface.

I wondered if all celebrities felt that way, deep down.

"Look, can we talk about something else besides relationship stuff? Like, uh, movies. Seen any movies you'd recommend?"

Misa paused to collect her thoughts. "Well, Misa is gonna star in a movie, if that's what you mean. Misa is going to play the heroine in director Nishinaka's newest movie! So naturally, I would recommend seeing that one. When it comes out in spring, of course," she said with a slight giggle. Had I lifted her mind off of the boyfriend thing? I didn't know, but to be sure, I decided to follow up on that while Misa put the final touches on my hair. "PS: did you know that Misa-Misa ranked number one on 'Eighteen' magazine's most recent reader popularity poll?"

"Well, congratulations! You earned it, as far as I'm concerned. Hey, maybe I'll go with you to the premiere to your movie? What d'ya say?"

"Actually, Misa was thinking of going with Light. But you can still come along. Ooh, I've got an idea! You could go with Ryuzaki! Like a double-date! It would make his presence so much more tolerable if we did it that way. Plus, you could distract him while Misa and Light get cozy…"

I couldn't say I was a hundred percent behind her proposal. I mean, being stuck in a dark movie theater, way in the back, unable to hear the movie between Misa's smooching up Light's unresponsive face and L's absent-minded bogarting of the snacks…I don't know, something about that image seemed kind of lousy.

"I'll think about it, but I'm not too sure how well that'd work out. Ryuzaki gets all the satisfaction he wants from sugar. How can I compete with that? I don't even think I want to, get between a man and his sugar, I mean."

Suddenly, I felt her finger poke into my shoulder. "A-ha! So you do want a boyfriend! Wait. You want Ryuzaki as a boyfriend? You have a really strange taste in men, I must say…but who am I to judge?"

Oh boy, did somebody jack up the thermostat to maximum, or what? Even though she was still working on my hair, I was rattling my head all over the place, my hair crashing out of the bun she'd painstakingly pinned up. "What the—no! N-no, I never said anything like that!"

Misa threw her hands up in mild despair. "Aw, now look what you did!"

I whirled around to look at her. "Where would you get that idea?"

"You said, 'How could I compete?' You don't think you can compete with sugar as the object of his affections," she said with a sly smile.

"News flash: I also said that I didn't want to, Misa." I should've known she'd go pull something like that on me. Suddenly, I didn't feel like talking to her, anymore. Oh no, I didn't have anything against her. She was a nice girl, in her own cornflake way. I just didn't feel like keeping up the conversation if the subject would keep turning to dating.

Who knew that girl talk could be so…jarring? But then, that must depend on who you're doing it with, and what you're talking about.

Misa started to fix my head back into her hands, pins protruding from her mouth. "Here, let's try again."

"Uh, you know what? Maybe we should pick up on this, some other time? I don't feel too hot. Is—is that all right?"

Misa arched an eyebrow. "What's the matter? You got butterflies in your tummy, now?"

"No." I didn't, either. When you got butterflies floating around in there, it was supposed to feel good, the polar opposite of how I felt at that moment. I'd been accused of being moody in the past, but ever since I'd gotten sucked into this PS, I'd felt even less like myself. "It's a—I just don't feel very good. I think I might have a bug, or something. I don't want to pass it on. I'm sorry, I really am." I meant that.

I could see Misa's eyes dim with brief disappointment, but the smile on her face pardoned my excuse. "Well…okay. If you say so." She hopped up from the couch and bowed. "It was still nice meeting you. Misa needs to come up with a way to get Ryuzaki away from Light, anyway. Any ideas, Elin?"

I rested my head in my hand. "He's way smarter than he looks, Misa. You'd have to come up with something impossibly elaborate, and even then I won't guarantee it'll work. That's all I'm saying."

…

I don't know how late it was when I heard from L again, but it sure felt late. I'd gone to bed and everything, but I couldn't sleep. I felt too fogged up to sleep, too preoccupied with all the current events: Kira, L, Light, Matsuda, Misa—I found it a wonder L hadn't said anything to me yet about what'd happened on the date.

Which was why it kind of caught me by surprise—yet in a way, didn't—when I heard the laptop sitting on the nightstand make that woo-woo noise that heralded the caller's identity. Forcing myself to move, I squirmed over to answer.

"Yeah?"

"What's wrong? You sound tired." The synthesizer made it impossible to tell if he was still sore about everything, but I should have found it safe to assume that he was.

Where was Light? Weren't they still chained together? I would've guessed that he'd have a problem talking to me with Light around. He must've turned in or something, like any normal person, leaving L up with the chance to bother me.

I pinched the spot between my eyes. "I sneezed! Big deal, everyone does it. Except you, apparently. That's too bad, really. It's the bee's knees."

"That is not what I'm talking about and you know it." 

"…What, you mean what I said about your ego? Or what I'd said about your thumb-sucking?"

"Try again." 

Oh. He was talking about sneaking into Misa's room in the first place where they could catch me.

For the hell of it I started trying to sound all cool and nonchalant like he did. Like this hadn't bothered me one mite. "Aw, they would've found out about me sooner or later." Exactly what I'd been telling everyone else all day. I swear, if those guys weren't obligated to talk to me if they had to, they might've ostracized me. "Besides maybe that wouldn't have happened if you'd just tightened security measures so I couldn't go down there in the first place. What's the matter? You slipping or something?"

Remember what I said about blurting things I'd regret later? Honestly I had no idea what the hell I was saying. I guess all I was trying to do was somehow blame this on L. Talking to his letter rather than to his face gave me enough bravado to do that.

"So for those reasons, you chose to carelessly expose yourself?" The way he said that, you'd have thought I'd flashed the three of them or something.

"I ain't scared of you. You want me to be scared of you like everyone else is but I'm not."

"That's not what I asked. I'm asking how you could do something so idiotic. Your distributing blame on everyone but yourself only proves your immaturity."

I was sitting up now, fists out in front of me on either side of the computer. "Oh, like you're any better. You handcuff yourself to Light just because you can't let go of your dumb theory that he's Kira." Imagine that: bickering with a letter on a computer screen, with the world's greatest detective. Probably one of the stupidest things I had ever done or could ever do, but I was too riled up to spare it any thought.

A light blew off in my head. "Why, I'll be a monkey's aunt...for all I know, you're probably Kira, and you're just trying to frame Light and Misa for everything. Matsuda told me once that you didn't have any other suspects besides those two and Light said that Kira could be somebody who knows what's going on with him. Well, who would know better than you, the guy who's been making him jump through all these hoops?" I rested my head on the ball of my hand, shaking it in pseudo-disbelief. "Man, being hired to hunt yourself: it's the perfect crime. Don't you think? You know what they say: he who smelt it, dealt it."

I didn't really mean this. If L were really Kira, I'd have likely been a goner by day one. I said this mostly to piss him off. And believe me, I didn't normally say stuff to piss people off (at least not intentionally); I think lately what I really wanted was some kind of reaction from him that proved he wasn't just an unfeeling robot. But if I succeeded, I couldn't tell from his voice.

"That, Elin, is what is called a fallacious argument. Your reasoning appears to be full of them. Too much cinema must do that to a person. I do hope you realize how much danger you are in now that both Yagami and Amane have seen your face. Or no, that would be asking for too much, would it?" 

My insides began to combust from every nook and cranny. "Yeah, that would be too much, 'cause I don't see what the problem is. I'd say that your thinking's more fit for the birds! Neither of them know my name, I'm not a threat, and they don't have Kira's power. If they ever did. You know, this could've all been avoided if you'd have just let me go home. How's that for fallacious reasoning?"

"You wouldn't be here at all if you weren't such a nuisance," he replied, nonetheless impassive.

I wouldn't be a nuisance if you weren't such an asshole.

I leaned in real close to the screen until my nose touched the "L," my eyes shriveling under the harsh artificial glow like eggs in a frying pan. Boy, was I on a roll all of a sudden. I had no idea what I was thinking when I asked him, "What'cha gonna do? Kick my ass?" That could be it though. Again, I wasn't thinking.

L didn't answer me right away, leaving me unsure whether to gloat at having left him silent or to brace myself. Once I replayed my challenge to him in my head again, I found myself doing the latter, even using my hands to shield my nose, for Christ's sake. Like his callused foot could pop right out from the screen.

Finally, he answered:

"I could kick you. Perhaps I should. But it won't undo the damage you've already dealt. Besides…I find it rather pointless to kick someone who won't even strike back. Especially someone who insists on acting and speaking out of tactless bravado she only uses as a thin veil for the timid individual she really is. Why bother to tell me without prompt that you're not afraid of me unless you're trying to convince yourself that you're not?" 

Translation: "You're not even worth sticking my foot up your nose."

One minute I was on the bed. Next thing I knew my feet were thundering out the door and down the hallway before my brain had even made the decision. This is going to sound wacky but in those moments, as I raced all the way down those flights of stairs…I wanted him to kick me. I wanted to do something awful so he'd kick me, just like Light had—"An eye for an eye," I remembered him saying—so I could prove how tough I really was. That I could take a hit. That I could strike back. That I was not yellow.

I'd barely reached the monitor room where L was staying when I lurched over to catch my breath. I wasn't built for marathons on the stairs, but I kept doing it anyway. Standing around in an elevator with all that pent-up rage would've been worse.

I could hear my wheezing echoing off the vast sterile space like air through a cavern. Out of the corner of my watering eyes I saw him crouching in a swivel chair in front of a long desk against the wall, lined with monitors and stacks of files stuffed to the three-ring spines with classified information. Beside him I saw Light resting his head in his arms, stretching over the gap between the desk and his chair. Asleep, presumably.

L turned his head to stare back at me like he had expected me to run all the way down to his floor to pick bones with him, a cup of tea raised to his lips. At first he didn't say a word, only observed my every movement as I staggered my way over, my brain spiraling and pounding with blood.

"I'll show you who's a—c'mere," I snarled, gathering half of my strength to make a fist with my left hand. But not to punch him. I couldn't punch anybody, even if I badly wanted to. My fist wound up plunging into his crow-feather hair to rub out his scalp, while I invested the other half of my strength snaking my other arm around his neck.

A noogie: that was the best that I had for him. I would've liked to think that I drove him nuts touching him like that. But no matter how tightly I squeezed my eyes shut as I braced myself, the kick never came. Once I realized that my grip on him loosened until my arms now hung limp at my sides until I hung limp from the waist like a marionette.

Setting his cup of tea back down on his plate, L whirled around in his chair, not a muscle in his blank expression shifted from their position. He cupped his hands over his knees. "You're quite dedicated to your charade, aren't you?"

He knew. He wouldn't kick me because I'd wanted him to. At least, I had in the heat of the moment. His whole riling me up had been some kind of backwards game of his, a test to prove his point on my character. He'd tricked me.

I'd charged headfirst towards the bait like a classic all-day sucker. I couldn't remember another moment in my life where I'd felt so stupid, not even in my high school days or in the dreams I used to have about going out to collect my shiny Pulitzer Prize™ without pants.

My mind became barren of words I could've used to save face. He would've picked whatever I came up with anyway. He always did. Too tired to even clench my fists at my sides, I turned around so I wouldn't face him anymore. At the very least I didn't want the bastard to see me tearing up.

God, I wished I'd had my hat on. As though it would help to make it somehow magically appear on my head, I reached up to make a feeble notion with my fingers.

"Fine. I get it," I muttered, cursing myself for letting my voice quiver with defeat. "You win. I'm a moron. I'm sorry. Happy, now?"

"I don't recall classifying you as such."

...

"Elin, please turn around."

Having exhausted my fighting spirit, I turned back around, halfway, mind you.

"Wha—what d'ya want?"

I saw L holding something out to me, pinched in his fingers. A napkin. I had almost half the nerve to knock it out of his hand but for some reason didn't. I accepted it, though dodging direct eye contact with him the whole time. Nor did I dab at my eyes in front of him. I kept it clenched in my hand as I tried blinking back the tears and snot on my own.

So much for my big-girl panties.

"Go back to bed," he said gently. "It's late. Would you like Watari to help you back upstairs?" Somehow under the dim fluorescent lights I could make out shadows of bruises lingering on his cheek and around the bridge of his nose, where Light had done what I'd wanted to do but couldn't. Given his complexion, they sort of stuck out more than the average bruise.

You're one to talk about bed. I've never even seen you lie in one. 

"No, I can get up there myself. Thanks, anyway, though. I think."

L: the King of Backasswards, I swear to God. One minute he'd jerk you around mercilessly; the next, he'd offer you a napkin if you were crying. You would've thought he had bipolar or something.


	12. Hand

How's this for a headliner? "Rising Star and Sweetheart Double-Date with World's Great Detective and Writer of This Story!"

Okay, I'll admit, I never was that clever with titles, having always been more focused on the story behind the title. But in a way, it fit, because in my head, it summed up the weirdness of the whole ordeal. Misa came up with the idea on one of her off-days, frowning the entire time at Ryuzaki as he busied himself in stacking his sugar cubes into a tower.

"We all need a break!" she declared, sliding her hands all over Light to try to relax him. "Light, you've been working too hard for too long and haven't come up with anything, yet. If you keep this up, you could end up looking like Ryuzaki." She had a habit of speaking as though she were only concerned for her boyfriend, whatever comments she had for L strewn on the wayside and generally…not nice. For a while, I thought I'd finally found someone even less subtle than I was, and believe me, that said something.

I didn't think L cared much about what she thought, though. He'd been in a kind of sulking spell since that huge blow-out, having had yet to get back his motivation. Their coming up empty-handed hadn't helped much with his mood, needless to say. That was probably why he hadn't argued about the arrangement, apart from the fact that he'd be tagging along.

Huh, and he called me immature. Sure, I sulked, but not for this long. He'd have to get tired of sulking, sometime. With all that sugar he wolfed down, I'd think he would've gotten clear out of his funk, by now.

"A day out on the town will help revitalize our spirits."

I couldn't help but agree with her. Granted, I still wasn't too keen on the idea of double-dating—regarding who I'd be doing it with and my overall inexperience in the activity in the first place—but at that point, anything not involving the case sounded a hell of a lot better than staying cooped up at headquarters. I hadn't had the privilege to just go out on the town in so long, I'd practically forgotten what that was like!

The only reason I hadn't said anything was because I had a problem of my own, at that particular moment.

Misa turned her head to stare down at me. "Elin, what're you doing on the floor?" Sure enough, I was on my hands and knees, pawing the cold linoleum like a dog trying to remember where the hell he'd buried his bone.

Panic bolted me upright like a squirrel when I heard Misa take a step. Flailing my arms in mid-air, I cried, "Stop! Nobody move!"

Light soon whirled around in his chair. "Are you looking for something?"

I squinted at him, mostly because from my point, the dim illumination of the computer monitors had obscured his face. "You're a genius, you know that? Listen, I'm looking for a contact lens. I think it dropped on the floor somewhere, so I would really appreciate it if you guys didn't move until it turns up. Is that okay?"

Misa cocked her head. "Not really, no. If we can't move, then how are we supposed to leave for our date?"

"Would you forget the dumb date for a sec? This is an emergency!" I snapped, then hung my head when I started to wish I hadn't. "I-I mean, if you wanna clear out of here faster, maybe you could help? You guys are detectives, aren't you? You think maybe you could, I dunno, lend a private eye or whatever? Preferably without leaving your seats?" That shouldn't have been a problem; most of the work I'd seen them do had been desk work, anyway.

"Your lens is indeed in this room," said L, not even bothering to turn from his sugar cube tower. "And you are getting close."

I squinted even harder at him than I had at Light. With my lack of visual aid, he seemed to blend in with the fluorescent light until he looked little more than just a fuzzy shape, an outline. "You're not even looking over here," I said. "How would you know?"

Duh. Because he's the world's greatest. 

"Elin, if you truly wish to find your contact lens, then I will have to ask you to trust me." Of course, I didn't feel like trusting him, but what choice did I have? I never seemed to have had a choice, anymore.

So I pressed my nose against the floor and grunted, "Okay, Ryuzaki, where is it?"

He still didn't look back from his little masterpiece. "Go precisely three tiles forward, one to the left. Your left."

I became a practical tortoise on the floor as I slid in the directions he'd told me, feeling none the wiser than I had when I'd first started looking for my lens; probably even less so. I couldn't even lift up my head to look at him, from both out of shame and out of keeping my eyes peeled for my precious lens. "I swear, Ryuzaki, you'd better not be leading me on. Because if you are—"

Crack. 

As soon as I heard that soft, ominous crack from under my knee, I could feel a tiny part of me crack, as well. For a long, merciless moment, I stayed perfectly still, almost too terrified to look at my knee to survey the damage.

Misa must've thought I was clueless, because she pointed her finger at the floor. "Uhm, Elin? Was that your lens?"

For some reason, it ached when I assumed a kneeling position on the floor, like my muscles had grown stiff with inertia. I threw my hands up in the air. "Aw, that's just great! Fucking sensational, I tell ya! Damn it, Ryuzaki, now look what you made me do!"

"I didn't make you do anything. I simply gave you the directions to your lens's location. You crushed it entirely on your own accord."

I pounded my fist against the linoleum, nearly smashing my crazy hand on impact. Linoleum floor was not friendly floor. Just like L. Wincing at the sharp pain radiating up my arm, I hissed, "Why didn't you pick it up, then? You could've saved me a lot of grief!"

I saw him make a slight shrug as he started sucking on one of his sugar cubes. He got his sugar fix in all forms, even in its purest. "Each and every individual is responsible for what they drop on the floor. Besides, you said not to leave our seats."

Translation: "I'm so lazy, I can't even pick up my own stuff off the floor."

I swear, ever since we'd all moved into the L-cave (or L-tower of Ominousness, as it were), sometimes it felt less like an investigation on the crime of the century than a goddamn sitcom. I could see the premise: "Four yahoos under the same roof try to get along from day to day as they track down a megalomaniacal vigilante on the run, with the task force stuck as referees." If the whole concept just didn't feel so bizarre—and if L didn't have such a huge phobia against cameras—that might've made a terrific series, I bet. We'd have raked in those ratings and got a massive cult following, maybe even an award or two, or at least a nomination.

Not that I felt much like laughing, though. In fact, I wasn't sure if I could get through even one day with an imaginary audience howling their heads off every time I did something stupid. Or any of us, for that matter. They would never shut up.

"Yeah, Elin, no need to get foul-mouthed about it," said Light. "We'll take care of it as soon as we can. In the meantime, don't you have anything you can wear to replace your lenses?"

I could feel a pellet of sweat rolling down my face when he'd asked that. I did. I did have something in case something would happen to my contacts. But that something was pretty much the reason I wore contact lenses in the first place. I had an old pair of glasses with extra-thick rims, "extra durability" and all, because I used to break them quite a bit when I was a kid, which drove my folks nuts since I wasn't a big athlete or anything, unlike my brother. Not that I cared too much about how I looked, but…they made me look dumb. I mean, I could look at myself in the mirror and see how stupid my glasses made me look, and I'd ask myself, Wow, who's that dork? 

…Oh, wait. That's me. My hard-boiled heroes from the movies didn't wear glasses like that. I'm not saying that people who wear glasses are ugly, mind you. Because then I'd be calling folks like Watari, Mr. Yagami, Kyoko, and my mom ugly. Some people look great with them. I just happened to be someone who didn't.

Not to mention, glasses get in the way easily. For me, anyway. They don't stay in place like contacts do. Get stuff on the lens, and it can be a bitch to wipe them clean without scratching them.

But now it looked like I'd have to wear them. Either that, or I could go around blind as a mole, bumping into walls until I'd have a dent in the center of my face where my nose was supposed to be. Putting it that way, it hardly seemed like a contest.

I stumbled back onto my feet to dust myself off, trying not to sound too defeated. "Yeah. Yeah, I got something to back me up." Why didn't pride ever feel as good swallowing as it did when you threw it up in everyone's face?

Misa, in the meantime, tried to help me feel better with a piece of advice: "Misa thinks they've got corrective surgery for your eyes. Maybe you could try that?"

Another thing that drove my folks crazy: I used to beg them to let me get laser surgery on my eyes. Considering how I'd drive them crazy with how much I'd break my glasses, or lose my contact lenses, I thought I had a pretty persuasive argument on my behalf. But their answer had stayed pretty much the same, over the years. They saw no reason to waste all that money to zap my eyes out when glasses and contact lenses worked just as well. Parents: not even L could figure them out.

…

Misa decided to take us all to a movie. Her reason? Movie theaters were dark and inconspicuous. She would remain out of sight from any potential fans who could hound her if they ever saw her face in public. That way, she would be free to mess around with Light all she wanted. Plus, I think she picked a movie theater because the darkness would make it way easier for her and everyone else to ignore L's presence.

Putting it that way, I couldn't see how L would argue with that idea.

Like I said before, I only agreed to the "double-date" so I could re-experience the sweet, sweet taste of the freedom of city frolic, however tainted by the current circumstances. Since Matsuda was her manager, poor guy got the assignment of chaperone/ chauffeur/ spare tire/ guy who paid for everything. He volunteered to pay for everything, actually, because "it was his job as a manager to take care of everybody," which only proved what a sweetheart he really was.

He even tried to make me feel better about my glasses as we all piled into the car. "Wow, Elin! I didn't know you wore glasses. They—they make you look distinguished. Ah, not that you never looked distinguished in the first place, of course! I-I mean—"

I cut him off before he could really trip over himself. "Thanks, Matsui," I said with a pained smile. "But I'd rather that no one said anything about my glasses. I just want to go out without any incident, is all."

Don't hold your breath, warned the pessimistic voice in my head. I liked to consider myself a generally optimistic person, but I had a theory that maybe everybody had both voices, one louder than the other, depending on the context and all. I tried to hold on to whatever hope I could, but lately...

As we drove all the way out to the theater, Misa started barking orders from the backseat as she linked her arm with Light's, in a typical diva fashion. "Elin, make sure you hold Ryuzaki's hand when we get out of the car."

I twisted around in my seat belt from my place in the shotgun. "Why do we gotta hold hands?" I asked her, yanking my hat well over my face so she wouldn't see how goofy my glasses made my face look. "We're not kindergarteners or anything." Sometimes, though, I wondered about that.

Misa rested her head on Light's shoulder, who just looked down at her as though silently asking her to please let go of him before she'd cut off the circulation. He never pushed her off himself, though. At least, I never saw him do it. Boy was too polite to, I guess. "Because this is a date," she huffed, like I'd just asked her why we wore seat belts in a car. "Dates are supposed to hold hands. It's normal."

I should've figured. Misa was hell-bent on having as normal of a date as she could. I found it kind of pointless, personally; that chain linking L to Light and vise versa had to be at least four feet long. I had to admire her determination, though. I felt sorry for her, in a way.

On the other hand, I couldn't say I was too fond of the idea of holding L's hand. Something just didn't feel right about holding hands with a guy whom I still had no clue what the hell to make of. I'd found that I couldn't hate his guts—not even when I had moments when I felt like I did—but I didn't feel like fawning over him, either, even when I had moments when I felt sorry for him. Since I had to be in close proximity with the guy all the time, it was torture.

Now here I was, being forced to date him, only because Misa wanted some decent quality time with Light, who probably wasn't that up for it in the first place. The whole set-up felt backwards, despite how much I'd wanted to get out. I felt like that one unlucky kid in the class who got paired up for a field trip with the other kid that no one liked because he picked his nose or some stupid crap.

In fact, as I flopped back into my seat, I kind of started hoping that we would never reach the theater. That maybe good old Matsuda would crash the car into a streetlight or get a flat tire or get stuck in traffic: anything to postpone the date—hell, maybe even cancel it. I didn't want anyone hurt, mind you, just something to slow us down.

But Matsuda's job as Misa's manager must've somehow transformed him into a safe driver, because we reached the discreet corner of the theater parking lot with no incident whatsoever, no matter how hard I'd crossed my fingers behind my back. I was crazy, more than I liked to admit. My unique situation did nothing to help my sanity, needless to say.

While everyone else crawled out of the car, I lingered, clutching my seat belt like a life-line. Matsuda opened the door for me. "What's wrong, Elin?"

I pulled my hat even further over my eyes. "My seat belt's stuck," I muttered. Lame excuse, I realized, especially when Matsuda went out of his way to unbuckle it.

He looked at me in genuine confusion. "It doesn't seem stuck to me." My slouch was almost as pronounced as L's as I let Matsuda guide me out of the car, but not really. L was the king of slouching. He was the king of a lot of things.

Speaking of whom, Misa pounced on me as soon as my feet touched the concrete, shoving me all the way to his half of the odd couple, no matter how deeply I dug my heels into the ground. Girl had the brute strength of a bulldozer, in spite of her petite build. "There! Now hold hands," she ordered.

I wouldn't give up my pussy-footing, yet. Making a conscious effort to avoid L's gaze, I said, "Can't we just stand real close or something?"

Misa stamped her foot. "No, everyone has to hold hands! We have to, so it'll look like Light is with Misa, and you with Ryuzaki!"

Now it was my turn to stomp my foot. I even reached out to snatch up the sleeve of her jacket. "Hey, if you wanna hold hands so much, how's about you and I hold hands, while Light and Ryuzaki…do what they're already doing? I think that'd look tons more normal than what you're proposing!" It would, too.

Misa glowered at me, the pigtails on her head quivering with either disgust or obstinacy, maybe both. "I thought you said you liked guys? Misa likes guys!"

Matsuda tried to speak up, but Light wound up talking right over him as he wedged himself between us. "All right, Misa, Elin, that's enough. This isn't worth fighting about, not in a parking lot. We're not going anywhere until you make a compromise."

I saw a sudden blush color Misa's cheeks, and I don't mean the blush she'd put on for the date. "Oh, sorry, Light, there'll be a compromise, I promise. So long as Elin gets with the program, that is." She paused to shoot me a dirty look.

Believe it or not, I did get with the "program." If someone had asked me why I decided to step down, I might've said it was because I was more mature than Misa for backing off before the argument could escalate into a hair-pulling riot. Really, I did it because I was a weenie. I couldn't seem to hold my own for very long with these guys without turning yellow. I don't know, their status might've had something to do with that; geniuses, police officers, models? Oh, my! I didn't have a prayer.

Or maybe L was right—as usual. I had no real backbone. I just pretended to have backbone.

Speaking of L (again), he'd been pretty quiet since we'd left headquarters. He must've felt really depressed if he'd had nothing to say about it. I couldn't tell for sure—for one, because I kept avoiding eye contact with him—but he probably hadn't felt too crazy about the date, either, or even about going out at all. What else could I expect from a recluse?

Instead, I kept my eyes trained on his gaunt hand, the one not in his mouth. It looked to me like a bony pale cobra, resting, but ready to strike if I ever so much as reached for it and kill me on sight. On the other hand, the way Misa kept glaring daggers at me, like she was going cut off my hand or something if I didn't do as I was told, I thought about how much better the former scenario sounded compared to the latter. At least the death would be quick and painless.

Which, again, only proved my yellowness. What amazed me was how I could have the stones to give him a noogie, but holding his hand left me all but petrified.

Slowly, my hand swam over towards his, my eyes squeezing shut as I felt my fingers clench around it. For some reason, I'd expected the contact to burn or otherwise hurt like hell. It didn't. Nothing happened, save for Misa's breaking out into a huge Cheshire cat-grin as she took up Light's wrist. "See? Nothing to it! Now let's go before the movie starts!"

That, and how his hand tensed up the instant our skin met, like a cold stone statue's. Other than that, I got no response from him. No pulling away, no squeezing back. Nothing. I peeked up at his face from the corner of my eye. Now he wasn't looking at me, his face shrouded under his unruly bangs. Like he was ignoring it. Or maybe he just had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do, because no one had ever held his hand before.

All of a sudden, his lack of a reaction made my heart sink like a brick. I don't know why that bothered me so much; it could've been because of my expectations for response whenever I'd held somebody's hand. In fact, as we headed for the building—Light and Misa in front with Misa holding up the chain of the handcuffs in her free hand, L and me in the center, Matsuda in the rear—my grip on him tightened, purely out of instinct. As though mutely goading him, pleading him to respond somehow because he was supposed to. I would've been happy with a kick, for Christ's sake.

God, if I hadn't felt lousy before, I sure did, now, almost to the point of tearing up. Almost. And we hadn't even gotten inside the damn theater, yet. My eyes drifted down to the ground, where they stayed until we entered the dark, musty sanctuary of the theater, even though my glasses kept sliding down my nose.

As if Misa couldn't get any more cuddly with Light, she was now clinging to him like the giant fuzzy teddy bear he wasn't. She gazed up at him with eyes shimmering with stark adoration while Matsuda stepped up to the front: first at the ticket booth to pony up the money, then to the door to guide us in.

"You guys go ahead and pick your seats. I'll run to the concession stand for snacks," he cheered. "Is there anything in particular that you want?"

"The only snacks Misa needs," said Misa, "are Light's lips. Ooh, and a diet soda. We'll share it. Is that okay, Light-darling?"

Light shrugged. "Sure. I guess." He didn't look like he really wanted to be here. The sooner we could end this date, the sooner he could go back to work, the better.

"Okay. Elin? Ryuzaki?"

I took off my hat. "Popcorn for me, thanks. I need something to throw at the screen when the movie starts sucking."

"Excuse me? Misa will have you know that Hideki Ryuga is in this movie! He also happens to be the one who'll be co-starring with Misa in Nishinaka's movie. He's no Light, though. Light is the star of my movie."

Hideki Ryuga was an idol? Huh, that only went to show how much creativity L had put into his alias back at To-Oh.

"Uh…okay. Diet soda for Misa and Light, popcorn for Elin…what about you, Ryuzaki?"

I waved a dismissive hand. My other still hadn't let go of L's. "Everything they've got for candy. How 'bout it, you crazy knucklehead? Sound good?" I squeezed his hand again, still holding out for some kind of response.

The combined darkness of his hair and the theater formed a mask around his face, but for the first time since we'd left headquarters, he spoke up. "Yes. That should suffice." Not much, but better than zilch.

I saw Matsuda get all flustered. "Er…okay. I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, try looking for seats!"

Once he dashed out into the main corridor, Misa led us into the row way in the back, up against the wall where the camera projected previews onto the silver screen—all in Japanese, naturally, in text and speech.

We took the four seats in the center of the row. Misa invited herself to Light's left side, slinging his arm over her shoulders like a stiff scarf. Of course, L nestled into his crouch in the seat on Light's right side, and I took L's right side in turn. By that point, I'd let go of his hand. Misa was too busy cozying up to Light to notice.

Guess what he did as soon as he got his hand back? I saw him dig into his pocket to pull out a bunch of white things, by the handful, and arrange them into a neat pile in the space between his bare feet. His battered shoes sat right underneath his seat.

"Wha—are those sugar packets?"

"They are. I don't go out much..."

"Oh, really? You could've fooled me." I guess that wasn't the nicest thing to say, but L's bad mood was sort of putting me in a bad mood. That's how bad it was.

"...but when I am forced to go out, I make sure to take these packets with me."

"Dude, Matsui's coming back with candy," I told him, my thumb jabbing towards the entrance. "Why didn't you just tell him—"

"I'm going to need all the sugar I can obtain," was all he said on that, like we were in for a painful ordeal. Who knew? Maybe we would be? That depended on the quality of the flick.

Or maybe that was his stupid depression talking, again.

My jaw came to rest in my open palm, as I asked him a question that'd been egging me for the longest time: "Why do you eat so much sugar, anyway? It's a marvel you haven't dropped dead of a—a diabetic coma, or cavities or something."

L tore open a packet and proceeded to tilt his head back and pour the sweet stuff into a tiny white pile on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed. "It's not really a marvel. The brain's energy source is glucose. Sugar."

And what with his being the world's greatest detective, that made his brain a massive energy hog, right? I mean it. That joker was impossible. "If that's the case, you might want to think about trading that think-tank for something more environmentally friendly." I didn't even bother to wait for a reaction when I quick took that back: "I know, I know, no one asked me. You do what you want. I don't care." I glued my eyes to the entrance and waited for Matsuda to come back.

When he did come back, the opening credits had already appeared. Balancing all our snacks in his arms—most of his load boxes of candy—he made a mad dash for the empty seat beside me, probably because he hadn't wanted to miss anything. On his way down, a little popcorn snowed from the top of the container and landed on my head.

Well, that practically had him dropping everything else on the floor. "O-oh man, sorry, Elin!" He handed me my popcorn.

"No biggie. You should be more concerned about getting the lovebirds over there their drink. Misa-Misa's getting testy, over there."

To reinforce my point, Misa flailed her arm around. "Yeah, Matsu! Took you long enough!"

"Misa, be quiet," said Light. "The movie's starting."

Boy, you should've seen how poor Matsui thumped around into the seats as he made a hasty distribution of the snacks. Everyone on the team had been pushing him around, lately, like he'd taken on the unspoken role of the underappreciated, good-natured intern or something. I should've said something about that; a real friend would've. But I didn't. They listened to me far less than they did to Matsuda. Not that that was a good excuse.

In essence, the date turned out to be exactly as I'd imagined it, but with a twist. For one, Misa spent less time cooing and smooching up with Light than she did bitching at Matsuda from across the row ("Matsu, Misa said diet! You got the regular! What're you trying to do? Fatten Misa up?"). For another, the movie seemed to have elements of a chick flick in it (and for a moment, I noticed that Hideki Ryuga bore a passing, resemblance to L, only much more cleaned up), but I couldn't tell for sure. I couldn't hear what the characters were saying too well, between Misa's harping, Matsuda's apologizing and L's grunting as he downed one box of candy after another.

Besides that, we didn't even get to sit through the whole thing. Because that's when the third twist happened. I don't mean a twist in the movie, either. About half an hour into it, give or take a couple of minutes, I was leaning forward in my seat, straining my ears to listen, as my palm continued to shovel popcorn into my mouth. You know, minding my own business.

When all of a sudden, it touched me. Something—this hand, it felt like a hand, or something between that and a big spider—brushed at the back of my head and around the sides, raking through the strands.

I don't remember what happened next, too well. All I was aware of was the thump of my seat snapping shut, the inside of the theater snowing buttered kernels, and somebody's wailing to high heaven. My wailing to high heaven, as it turned out. But not for long. In a heartbeat, the whole goddamn room flooded with the gasps and mutters of bewildered movie-goers, Ryuga Hideki's smooth moves having long been washed out by the chaos.

"Elin, Elin, what is it? What's wrong?" breathed Matsuda. Misa shrieked even louder than I had, clinging onto a disgruntled Light for dear life.

"What d'ya think? I've got a spider on my head or something!" I shouted. Or at least, tried to. I'd sort of lost coherence between the shrieking and the prancing around in the row as I smacked my hands against the back of my head—practically whacking my glasses off of my face, while I was at it—even though the mysterious hand or whatever had long since vanished from the moment I'd torn out of my seat.

In all the commotion, I'd forgotten all about L. He must've been the only one in the theater who stayed cool and collected in his seat. Man, the world could've been coming to an end, and I bet he still wouldn't have moved. When he had his sugar fix, nothing seemed to bother him.

…

They wound up kicking us out. No matter how hard I'd tried to explain what'd happened to the usher, no matter how hard Matsuda tried to, they still gave us the boot. It was kind of hard to explain things when I myself had no clue what the hell had happened.

Misa only wound up exacerbating the whole deal when she turned back on her discretion rule and used the old celebrity status card ("Excuse me, do you have any idea who you're kicking out?") It turned out that several folks filing out of the theater overheard her say that, who must've liked her and everything, or maybe they'd just been seized by the excitement of a celebrity meandering through their theater, because—

Well, let's just say that we almost got choked to death by a fan mob on the way out. I found it a blue-eyed miracle we'd managed to even get out to the car, much less get in it and speed out of the parking out. So much for discretion.

"Perhaps you were right, Misa," I heard L mumble between bites. He must've been the only one who didn't leave the theater in a foul mood, probably because even though we'd gotten kicked out, he still got to keep his snacks. "The theater may have some entertainment value, after all."

"That's not what's supposed to happen on a date, Ryuzaki!"

By that point, I'd had pulled my hat so far over my eyes, the seams could've split any second. For every minute Misa spent chewing me out, I felt myself sink a little into the upholstery. Girl could be pretty intimidating when she felt like it. "Thanks, Elin! Thanks a lot for getting us kicked out of the theater. We hadn't even gotten to the good parts, yet, damn it!" She reached across from Light and started beating the back of my seat with her fist. I wished she'd just get to giving me the cold shoulder, already.

"What're you blaming me for?" I shot back, pushing my glasses back up on my nose. "I'm a victim of circumstance, here." Something you should never say because it'd only make you look all the more pathetic, but I did, anyway. All right, I had to admit, maybe I'd overreacted. A little. But that wasn't all my fault! When I went to the theater, I went to see a movie, not to have some random guy behind me reach in out of nowhere and start picking at my hair like a damn monkey or something.

Or beside me, as the case might've been. I mean, when I collapsed into my seat and really got to thinking about it. Only I wouldn't say anything about it until we'd all gotten back to headquarters, with Matsuda promising up and down to Misa that we would get it right the next time we'd go out. "As your manager, I will make sure of that!" Guy was bowing in apology all over the place like one of those wacky drinking birds. Like this was his fault, somehow.

Misa tossed her head. "Misa is not too inclined to believe you at the moment, Matsu. If you can't even get Misa and Light what we ask for, what good are you, really?" Boy, did that piss me off. It wasn't like Matsuda wasn't trying! But in a way, I felt sort of sorry for her, too. Girl could be a real diva when she was in the mood, especially since she was a diva.

I would've said something about that, but Light beat me to the chase: "That's enough, Misa. I'm sorry, but I can't say you behaved yourself, very well, either." That shut her up. It was probably better if Light had said something rather than if I'd said it, anyway. Misa listened to Light. She always listened to him. In fact, Light had sort of become a whisperer for her. L must've made him. Otherwise, the team probably wouldn't get as much cooperation from her.

…

I didn't confront L until later. Again, if someone had asked me why I'd waited, I might've said it was because I was more mature than he was, waiting to give him a dressing-down until he was alone—or as alone as he could get—as opposed to what he did to me on a regular basis. Make a fool out of me in front of everyone, I mean. But again, I really only waited because I was a weenie. Obviously, or I wouldn't have jumped miles out of my skin like I had back at the theater.

"Light, could you move a little further down?" I asked as soon as I'd noticed no one else in the monitor room. My fists clenched at my sides, either in fury or fear, I couldn't tell. "I need to ask Ryuzaki something. Something private."

"Huh? Oh, all right." As far as the chain would allow, Light took his papers and rolled his swivel chair all the way up alongside the desk. I credited him for that. At least he respected privacy when it called for respect.

Pushing my glasses up on my face, I marched over to L, squatted in his chair. He didn't look back at me, his attention instead focused on the box of bonbons sitting in front of him. At a steady pace, he plucked each bonbon out of its space, tilted his head back, and dropped it down the hatch, making sure to gulp real loud as it tumbled down his throat. You should've seen how wide he could open his mouth, like an anaconda or something. He sure had the appetite of one.

His gulping echoed off of the walls of the lobby as I bent over to his level. "That was you, wasn't it?" I whispered, my grip on the surface of the desk tightening the more I thought back on the incident.

"And don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about," I added before he could try to deny it. "'Cause I know you know." Unbelievable! I hold his hand and everything, and that's how he repays me?

L gulped down another whole bonbon. "How did you reach such a conclusion?" he asked, lethargic as all hell.

I counted off on my fingers. "Oh, let's see. We're sitting in the last row, with no one else behind us, Misa's got her hands raking through Light's hair the whole time, and I know for a fact that Light and Matsui would never do that. So, by process of elimination...well, you know."

He held a new confection up to the tip of his nose, as though looking through a crystal ball. "You should never assume that you 'know' people. They can always catch you unawares, no matter how much time you spend with them."

Gulp!

Yeah. You're a perfect example of that. "Wh-what'd you do that for, anyway? You don't like holding hands, but you don't have a problem picking at people's hair? Explain that to me." By that point, my whisper had become less of a whisper than a growl.

L rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling. He always had to look away when he talked to somebody, like they weren't worth the effort. "You still had popcorn in it. I found it rather vexing." He didn't sound at all vexed when he said that.

Oh, right. I'd forgotten about that, that obsessive-compulsive thing he had going on. I just hadn't counted on how far he took it beyond the way he liked stacking his food. For some reason, though, I felt a vague shudder rattle down my spine. "Well…what were you paying attention to my head for, anyway? The movie was right in front." I even tried to use my hands to illustrate it. "I'm over here, and the screen's way out in front."

"I found the film to be far less entertaining than the hype implied it to be. I couldn't help but lose interest fairly quickly."

"But we were only half a—"

I paused. Like I said before, just when I thought L couldn't get any more backwards, he threw me a sucker kick. That must've been why he did it. He knew I'd hit the ceiling, but he'd done it anyway, for kicks. He'd jerked me around, again. And I'd fallen for it, again! 

Then he calls me a nuisance. Me, a nuisance…

I should've given him a sock in the jaw, a noogie, even. Anything to teach him a lesson: he could not toy with me and get away with it! But…what if he'd been expecting me to do that, too? Besides, what was done was done. Nothing I could do could take it back.

Suddenly, I couldn't look at him anymore. My face had begun to burn, from the eyes outward. I looked down at the floor and waved in surrender. "You know what? I'm not even gonna bother. I don't want to fight with you every single time we interact, especially since it never seems to change anything." I didn't, either. Fighting with him was like kicking a cinder-block, like I'd said before. Only I'd be the sore one.

"But I hope you know that only monkeys do that. Pick at people's hair and all." I don't know why I threw that in. I guess I was trying to warn him not to do that again. If he'd done that to some other girl, one that he couldn't pick on, the cops would've gotten involved, probably.

"Are humans and monkeys not genetically related? Not to mention, you seem to have no problems with letting Misa handle your hair. Besides, I distinctly recall you saying that you didn't care what I did."

"Well, if it involves setting me up for public humiliation, then don't you think I'd care about that? I thought you were a genius? And what Misa does is different." I didn't even bother to go into depth into how it was different. Being the moron he was, he might not have got it if I did.

Guess what he did, then? He didn't apologize. He never apologized. I guess because he never felt sorry for anything he did, or if he did, he was too proud to say so. What he did do, though, was hold out a bonbon. When I looked up at him, I expected him to eat it.

But he didn't. He was holding it out to me. Like offering a treat to a toy dog that he'd just forced to perform degrading tricks, again.

This time, I somehow worked up the guts to refuse his offer. Not that I felt too proud of myself for doing it, though. In fact, I felt a sticky lump form in my throat when I told him, "Keep it, Ryuzaki. I'm stuffed with all that popcorn from the theater. But thanks, anyway. See you around. I don't want to hold you guys up."

Not bothering to check for a reaction from L, I slumped out of the room with a heavy heart, pushing my glasses back up for the fiftieth time all day. He would've wanted me out of there, anyway. He always did, once he was through with me.

…

Almost a month later, after weeks of digging for something substantial, the team finally struck gold.


	13. Contacts

The Kira case had evolved from your average mass murder case. It'd become a white-collar crime. I overheard the boys talking about it, actually. I was headed for the monitor room, hoping to ask L when my new contacts were going to show up.

I didn't know if he'd ever gotten around to ordering them—in that sneaky way of his—or whatever, so I was on my way to ask him about it. I'd just stepped across the threshold when their mutterings hit my ears, freezing me in my tracks. Light sat in front of a computer, his figure cutting a silhouette out of the glow, with L hovering over his shoulder with a finger in his mouth, while somehow keeping balance in his swivel chair. On Light's right side, Matsuda stood beaming, as though waiting for acknowledgement.

What monkey business were they up to now?

"…All of them were prominent Japanese businessmen, CEOs whose companies were leaders in their respective industries. And in just over a month, they all died of heart attacks," said Light. The air popped with the soft clicks of his mouse as he brought up at least twenty windows and charts.

"As expected, there's been a general downturn in the market…with the exception of Yotsuba. In other words, their deaths have worked in Yotsuba's favor. Looking back, there've been thirteen similar deaths in the past three months."

"I helped Light put all this together," said Matsuda. No one replied to him. "Oh man, I'd better get Aizawa; he'll want to know all about this!" With that, he scampered past me to round up the gang for a group huddle, stopping only to wave at me and blurt, "Hi, Elin!"

Despite myself, I gave him a thumbs-up, though I wasn't sure if he saw it, what with how quick he was moving.

Light turned to stare at L, whose expression remained hidden from my view. "Your thoughts? Based on this, I can only conclude that Kira is supporting Yotsuba."

Thirteen deaths in three months…and it takes them 'til NOW to notice them? I guess it doesn't matter how many eggheads you've got on board; if they spend more time trying to crack each other's heads open rather than putting them together, you can consider the whole effort dumbed down.

"That could be," said L. "But if what you're saying is true, we can assume that punishing criminals is not this Kira's true intent." After all of those weeks in a rut, something had changed about his tone, all of a sudden. He still sounded like his old droning self and all, but somehow that sulky lilt that he'd had before seemed to have lifted. Like the gears in his head had just gotten a decent lubing with fresh mojo, and had begun cranking again.

On the other hand, I could practically hear the smile in Light's voice, one that hummed, "Eureka." "Right! Punishing criminals is just a diversion for him. It obscures the fact that he's actually killing for the benefit of his company. Are you…feeling a bit more motivated, now?"

I, in the meantime, shuffled backwards out until my back pressed against the wall, my toes curling in my shoes. My senses were tingling. I would've thought that after all of this time under their roof, I would've developed at least a little immunity to all of this shock, but that never seemed to be the case. From what I'd just heard, the case had just a taken on a corporate twist, giving a whole new meaning to the term "dirty, sexy money." Only with more "dirty" and no "sexy." Not trying to be cute, mind you.

I'd heard about white-collar crimes all the time in the media, both at home and in Japan, but all of those times, the strongest I'd ever felt about it was mild disgust. Now that I was seeing it happen right in front of me—the word "seeing" used loosely—without the shield of the silver screen or print, I had full-blown nausea coming on.

People can't REALLY be that evil, can they…?

All those months later, no matter how much I learned, I still found myself asking that.

They must've heard me holding on to my cookies, because Light turned his head to ask, "Oh hey, do you need something?" L kept his eyes pasted on the monitor and twenty windows.

I quick peeled my back off the wall and waved my fingers at them. "Uh…never mind. Sorry, g-go on with your business."

I hightailed it out of there before either of them could say anything else. God, was I wishy-washy. I could've stayed true to my blood and stuck around to hear a couple more juicy tidbits, for Christ's sake! On the other hand…I wasn't sure I wanted to hear any more. I'd heard so much crap already, it felt like my ears were bleeding.

Don't get me wrong. I was happy that they'd finally found a new lead: one step closer to catching Kira, which meant one step closer for me to go home. I just wished it hadn't had to be that kind of lead. I'd kind of always been that way, ashamed as I was to admit, but I didn't remember ever being so wishy-washy before Kira and L had intruded on my life (regardless of what L said; I didn't think of it as the other way around).

Taking deep breaths to steady my nerves, I pushed my glasses back up on my face, deciding instead to go find old Watari. He was the one closest to L, besides Light. Maybe he'd know what happened to my contacts? To do that, though, I had to go back up to my room and contact him through the laptop. I hardly ever saw Watari around much; whatever times I had caught him, he usually had a cart with him, bearing fancy assorted pastries and other support for L's diabetic addictions. The rest of the time, he stayed cooped up in a room that I'd never been introduced to, holding down the fort or doing whatever L asked him as far as the case went. Sometimes, when I had nothing better to do, I'd sidle through the hallways, groping or rapping the walls in search for some kind of secret door or switch that'd lead to his room. So far, I'd come up empty-handed.

It took some time before he answered, probably because of all the other odd jobs L had given them to do, whatever those were. Oh, Watari. What couldn't you do?

Bee-beep.

"Ah, good afternoon, Miss Crocker. I'm sorry for keeping you waiting. What is it?"

"Hey, no prob, Watari. You're busy, I respect that. Listen, I was supposed to get new contact lenses. Have they shown up, yet? Do you know?"

"Ryuzaki hasn't given them to you, yet? Hm…how odd."

Say what? I waved confounded hands out in front of me. "Whoa, whoa, back up, back up. What do you mean, Ryuzaki hasn't given them to me, yet? You mean they—they already came, or what?"

"They did, approximately a week ago. I would have given them to you myself, but as he deemed me too busy, he insisted that I give them to him so that he could give them to you."

My forehead clunked against the table before I'd even classified my feelings as anger. "Gah, damn it! He's doing it, again!"

"Doing what, Miss Crocker?"

I lifted my head just enough to rest it on the table by my chin, one hand reaching over to nurse the bump while the other held my glasses in place. "He's jerking me around, again! Watari, you know Ryuzaki pretty well, don't you? What'd I do, this time?"

"What do you mean?"

"What'd I do that he's cracking my nuts for? All right, so I might've said a couple things in the past that I shouldn't have said. And there might've been a noogie or two. But it's not like I didn't apologize every single time, afterwards! Wh-what's he got against me, exactly? Huh?"

"Nothing that I know of, Miss Crocker. I will consult him about this, if you like."

I shook my head, moving my hands up to my temples to rub circles into them. "No, Watari. I'll talk to him. I just want my contacts, is all. I don't wanna fight with him, anymore. I really don't. Thanks, though."

I flopped onto my bed and started counting for a bit. Looking back, I probably shouldn't have told L that he was right, about my being a weenie and how I didn't want to fight with him and all. Now the brat must've thought he could pick on me however, whenever he wanted, and I wouldn't do anything to retaliate. I didn't like fighting, but I didn't want to be a dumb doormat, either. Worse yet, I'd never seen him treat Light like that, and he still thought of him as a goddamn suspect!

That was my problem. I was too truthful. No, more like, I was just a lousy liar. Even when I wanted to lie—to get people off my back, I mean, not when it came to stories—I never thought one out well enough. And I'd always get caught later, if I hadn't already caved. You shouldn't let jerks know when they've bothered hell out of you, or else they'll just keep doing it: a lesson I encountered over and over, but it kept happening, anyhow.

I don't know, Erin, maybe he got so wrapped up in his slump, he just forgot to give them to you.

PS! That doesn't sound like him, one mite! He did it on purpose, I KNOW he did. What for, exactly, I haven't the foggiest. But hey, who knows why he does ANYTHING he does?

After the long trek back down the elevator from my floor to the first, I stormed up to the entrance of the monitor room, only to brake to the muffled voices of the investigation team on the other side of the door. They must've called a meeting to discuss Light's findings on those Yotsuba guys or something. Purely out of instinct, I found my ear attracted to the door like metal to a magnet, taking care to quiet any form of noise, even the whistle of my nose when I exhaled. For the moment, my curiosity pushed my anger into the backburner.

Did I mention I was wishy-washy, out the yin-yang?

"If you want my opinion, you'd be better off as police officers," I heard L say. "I was alone when I started this case. Almost every officer turned their backs to me when the chance of any of them losing their lives became a reality. And while I am grateful to all of you for staying with me as long as you have…I know that I can do this by myself. I'll be sure to visit you at the department and bring Kira's head as a reward for all that you've sacrificed."

I knew no one could see me, but I closed my eyes anyway, so that if I was being watched, no one would see my eyes rolling. Somehow, that sounded exactly like something I expected him to say. But if that was how he felt, why had he ever assembled a team in the first place?

"Ryuzaki," said Light, "as long as I'm alive, you won't be working alone. You have my word on that." The chain of their handcuffs softly rattled, as though emphasizing how it wouldn't have worked out any other way, anyhow.

"Hn. That's right. I'll have Light working with me until I catch Kira, so I won't be alone, after all. But as I said, I think the rest of you should remain as police officers."

"But when you first contacted us," said Mr. Yagami, "you said that you would need the help of the police to solve this case!"

As impassive as ever, L replied, "That's because the police, as an organization, were still hoping to arrest Kira. They weren't bowing to him." In between bites of whatever snack he had with him, he grunted, "Besides, with all due respect, there's a big difference between the help of two or three civilians and that of the police as an organization. As long as I had you, I could still maintain a connection with them. They would have been beneficial to have on my side in persuing Kira, as evidenced by their efforts during the Sakura TV incident, for instance. I didn't expect them to cave so easily after putting up such resistance in the past. The least they could have done was continue the investigation in secret..."

What could we say, L? Not everyone thought like you did.

"No matter. They have made their position clear: they don't want to catch Kira, so let's just leave it at that."

The thing that cracked me up here was the air in which L talked about the police, all condescending and whatnot, when this was the same guy who'd been moping around, suggesting giving up himself about two months ago. That hypocrite. He killed me, sometimes.

The sound of something hard and tiny—a seed?—clinking inside a bowl popped the atmosphere. The weight clunking in my chest knocked me a bit off-balance, finding me in more of a slump against the door. Oh, no. He was lying. He had to be! The Japanese police force turning yellow? Was that what this racket was about? Well, I could sorta get why they would want to back off. They valued their lives and didn't want to lose any more innocents in the crossfire. But still!

Where would that leave us…?

I got my confirmation about the police force from Mr. Yagami. He was always a man of integrity. "You may be right. If we are no longer police officers, then we really wouldn't be of much help to you. But Ryuzaki," he insisted, "we are all personally involved in this case, willing to put our lives on the line for it. Shouldn't that give us the right to decide for ourselves whether or not to quit or return to the police force?"

L made a noise that sounded like he was sticking out his tongue. "You may have a point. Then by all means, please make your decision now."

Aizawa spoke up: "But Chief, won't you be out of a job by quitting the force? Even if we ever manage to catch Kira…what will you do after that?"

"After that? I hadn't quite thought of that," said Mr. Yagami. "But, I suppose once we've caught Kira…"

After a brief, thoughtful pause, optimism lightened his tone. "…I'll have to dust off my resume."

Left little wonder why everyone admired Light's dad. I know I did.

That got old Matsuda fired up in an instant. "Count me in! I'm gonna quit the police and keep chasing Kira, too! And I've still got my job as Misa-Misa's manager! Besides, I only had a job with them in the first place through a connection."

Matsu had told me that he owed a lot to Mr. Yagami; his job was one of these things. I knew his pain. When you're anything like me or him, most folks won't give you a chance unless someone vouches for you. Or you otherwise grovel until they cave, if only so you'll leave them alone. I can't imagine groveling to work too well when you want to be a detective or cop.

"My parents might not be too happy about me quitting, but if I returned to the force now, I'd feel like a total loser—"

"Think before you open your mouth, Matsuda," Mr. Yagami said sternly. At first, I didn't know what he was talking about; Matsuda was just being honest.

But then, I noticed that Aizawa had fallen stone-silent. At that point, I thought about running, going back to my fear of silence whenever I was eavesdropping. I was just making the turn when Aizawa said, "Isn't there any way I can keep my job and still work on the case in my spare time?" His voice came out too thick for him.

"No. At this point, we're better off assuming that the police are no longer on our side." What did he mean, like we were outlaws now for still chasing Kira? I used to think that being an outlaw would be kinda cool, but now, in this case...it was starting to sound scary.

"If you choose to remain a police officer, then please don't come back," said L, not the type to mince words. He punctuated his condemnation with another soft clink as he spat another seed into the bowl. Almost like he were spitting in Aizawa's face, in an indirect way.

Now Aizawa sounded like he was begging, in spite of his efforts to hide it. He'd never come across to me as the begging type until that moment. "B-but if I go back to them now, they might think I'm a spy you sent to investigate them. What if I...what if I became an informant for you who watched their activities?"

Aizawa? A spy for L? Did he have half an idea what he was suggesting? I never thought he'd be willing to two-time his friends on the force like that. Unless he was just stalling...

"That won't be necessary." I would think that L would be all over a scheme like that, but apparently not. At least not where Aizawa was concerned.

"But you know I won't leak any information—"

"I won't be sharing any more information with you," L steamrolled over him, cold as hell. "If you want to pursue Kira on your own, you're free to do so. But I don't think it'd be fair to worry your family by giving up your livelihood to continue this. I can't see how that's a good idea."

Somehow, that made me think back to this one day when old Aizawa had come in to work with a bandage on his forehead. Unlike the rest of us, he'd been sleeping at home (lucky dog). I'd learned from Matsuda that he'd apparently had a scrap with his wife the night before, over his job and how it was keeping him away from the family so much. It hadn't been their first one, either.

I gulped when I thought about it. I could only imagine how many more bandages quitting his daytime job would earn him; not trying to be cute here, mind you.

"Ryuzaki's right, Aizawa," said Mr. Yagami. "If you choose to leave the team, we won't blame you for it."

"That's right! None of us will think any less of you," said Matsuda, trying to comfort their coworker. By this time, I could hear faint sniffling, the sound people made when they were trying not to cry and failing. I knew that sound all too well, but never seemed to get used to it.

"But…the Chief has a family, too," said Aizawa, his voice hoarse and shaking.

"Our circumstances are completely different," assured Mr. Yagami. "My kids have grown up and can handle themselves if necessary. But yours are still young and need you. Besides, I can't back down from this. Light has already been suspected of being Kira and incarcerated for it, as have I, though voluntarily. It's all been because of Kira."

"Damn it. To leave now, after all we've been through…I-I said I was prepared to die if that was what it took to catch him, and I meant it. What kind of friend would I be to Ukita, if I quit now? I became a detective so I could catch the bad guys, NOT RUN AWAY!"

Whoa. I'd never met that Ukita guy he'd mentioned—a fallen comrade during the Sakura TV incident with big ears, audacity, and a fondness for cigarettes, as Matsuda would tell me later, "It's...too bad you never got to meet him, you would've really liked him"—but the way he roared out like that had me reeling. Aizawa was a very passionate guy. They all were really, with the exception of you-know-who.

Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse—

Bee-beep!

"Ryuzaki, earlier on in the investigation, you specifically told me that if a task force member were to lose their job under any circumstances, I should make preparations to ensure that their family's financial future was secure. If you recall, a trust was set aside for that purpose. I'm a bit curious as to why you're withholding this information."

Watari had dropped the ball.

"This is not the time or place, Watari," said L, like the old man had decided to come out during the most inappropriate time or something. Whoa. I guess there were some things that L wouldn't even tell Watari, huh?

"I'm sorry. I just couldn't bear to listen anymore..."

"N-no way! So, all this time, we had nothing to worry about?" gasped Matsuda. "I can't believe you did that!"

Yeah…neither can I. Not just the trust thing, either.

"There you go, Aizawa! Isn't that great news?"

Well, I don't think Aizawa thought that that was too swell, because for the longest time, all we got on his end was a seething silence. Again, I started to back off, when the poor guy spoke up once more.

"Ryuzaki…this was a test, wasn't it?" he growled softly. "A test to see how committed I was to this investigation?"

"I-it's not like that, Aizawa," said Mr. Yagami. "Ryuzaki's just not the type to say things directly. You should know that, by now."

"Yeah, that's right!"

"No. I was testing you. I wanted to see which one you would choose." Point-blank.

"Ryuzaki…"

Mr. Yagami couldn't believe it. Nobody could. Even I couldn't. In a way, though, it didn't exactly shock me out of my gourd like other things about him did. Why hadn't I guessed that brat would go below the belt like that? Blows below the belt were his specialty.

More seething silence…

"Fine, then! If I wasn't sure before, I am, now!"

"B-but Aizawa," started Matsuda, only to get cut short. He was always getting cut short around the place, another peeve that brought us together.

"Let's face it. I wasn't able to decide right away, like you guys," snarled Aizawa, like he'd just been kicked in the stones. He might as well have been. "I was leaning towards going back to the police."

"Come on, Aizawa, d-don't be so stubborn—"

"No! I quit! Now…I know this for sure," barked Aizawa in a burst of rage. Whether towards himself, or L, or both, I couldn't tell. "I've always hated Ryuzaki. I hate him and his way of doing things!"

Finally. For a while there, I'd sort of wondered if I was alone with my sentiments. Why, when I think about it, Aizawa had probably had to put up with his bullcrap longer than I had. That it took him this long to finally say this outright was a testament to his true capacity for patience.

L's response? The last thing I'd expected to hear out of him. But even then, I couldn't be sure if he meant it. You could never be sure if you could believe any of the crap that spewed out of his mouth.

"That's too bad," he said, all quiet. "Because I like you, Aizawa." Almost like he wanted to get one more lick in before the guy would vanish forever.

Naturally, Aizawa reacted with teeth-gritting exasperation. "I also hate how you always have to have the last word! You insult me, then you say something like that? That's it!" he spat. "I'm out of here!" The angry click of his shoes across the linoleum seemed to beat into my temples like drumsticks.

"Thank you for everything," said L, which only proved Aizawa's point, about his wanting the last word.

Translation: "Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out."

Oh, just can it, already.

Just before Aizawa could storm out the door—literally and figuratively—I made that my cue to duck and cover. I should've at least taken the time to say good-bye to him or something, I really should've. You know, try to help him feel better, as a fellow victim of L's antics. There aren't many things in the world worse than somebody leaving the team, on such bitter terms.

Wow. You're not that special, after all, Erin. He does this to everybody.

I squeaked out his name once, not really knowing what to say to him as a follow-up. I don't think he heard me, though, or else he might've stopped to look back. He just kept storming for the exit.

I should've called him again. But again, yellowness won out. I couldn't even find the guts to chase after him, not when I saw the pain etched into his face, tears piercing his eyes like slivers of glass, blending with the face-reddening urge to punch something.

Looking back, I thought maybe we could've almost been the best of buddies, our bond forged over our dislike of L. Kind of a stretch, though, since Aizawa took things more seriously than Matsuda did and had a shorter fuse. He'd really let you have it when he reached that point where he could take no more PS from you.

But not anymore.

…

"Hey. Uh, I just saw Aizawa storm out. Is he okay? He looked steamed. He's coming back, isn't he?" I asked, pointing my thumb towards the door. Like I didn't already know the answer.

Light looked kind of sad, more than what I could say about L. "I'm afraid not. He just quit the team to return to the police force."

"Why? What happened?"

"Kira seems to have been threatening the police to call off their investigation on him. Or else he'd start targeting certain politicians—"

"Say what? H-hey now, some of those guys might not be the most upstanding types, but isn't that going a little far?" Maybe that was a stupid reply by the standards of these two, but seriously! That was why the police had bailed? Kira had bullied them into submission?

That monster. People actually supported this guy? Brother, I wonder if they would still love him if they knew what else he was doing besides judging criminals...?

Light's frown withered into a grim scowl. "'A little far' is an understatement. That's Kira, for you. He thinks he can dole out justice by holding the whole world hostage."

"S-so then, why did Aizawa—"

Without missing a beat, L told me, "I would suggest that you don't try to claim ignorance, Elin."

I must've prickled up like a porcupine. All this time later, I still had to wonder if L was even human, whether he had extrasensory antennae or something hidden underneath all that hair. There was no practical way anyone could be that knowing.

Or maybe I'd just been too noisy to be totally ignored, despite all the drama. I was always too noisy.

He had a bowl of shiny double-stemmed cherries by his side. Once he was through making out with a pair of the fruit, I saw him pluck the remaining stems off of the tip of his tongue, knotted. Did he do that himself? For some reason, that reminded me of something Misa had told me once, on one of her boy-kicks. She said that people who could tie cherry stems with their tongues were supposed to be good kissers, or something.

I doubted L was a good kisser. He just didn't look like the type to have ever gotten to first base with a girl, or go out to bat in the first place, if you know what I mean. No, that was probably just another little neurosis of his. All that he'd ever make out with was his food.

Huh. Putting it that way, I felt kind of sorry for him, again, as misplaced as my feelings were, considering how I was supposed to be mad at him and all.

I put my hands up in slight surrender. "All right, fine. You got me. I heard everything. But you know? That was a downright low thing to do, Ryuzaki, kicking him out."

"I didn't 'kick him out.' Aizawa left by choice."

"Huh? W-well yeah, after you were a total troll to the poor guy, making him pick between the case and his family like that. He left us feeling like a loser, you know that? He was offering to two-time his friends at the force just to stay here; I'm shocked that you of all people would say no to that."

Light turned his head to shoot me a funny look, as though surprised a nobody like me would come up to say something like that to the world's greatest detective. I didn't blame him. Why did I even bother? A conscience couldn't last a minute in that dome of his. But if I didn't say anything, who else would? Not Aizawa. He was gone. I'd said it in his honor.

"It is unfortunate that Aizawa has left us, but perhaps it's for the best. There's no room in this investigation for those who can't give their all to this case." L said that like it was a crime to have other people to think about besides yourself. Or, for that matter, to have so much as a different opinion from his. If there was only one thing Aizawa was known for, it was being contrary to L.

"But he was giving—man, what'd you do that for, anyway? Putting everyone through a test like that…if you're as independent as you say you are, why would you even want them around at all? What's it to you if they went back to work? Frankly with the way you treat everybody, I wouldn't have blamed them if they all dropped everything and ditched you right at this very second. You oughta be grateful that they're that dedicated. Hell, the fact that they've stayed and put up with you for this long almost makes that whole riot you stirred up pointless, don't you think?"

I thought about asking that shmuck how he would like it if somebody did to him what he had done to Aizawa for a minute there, but I didn't get to. It probably wouldn't have worked, anyway. L wouldn't know. He didn't have a family or others he considered remotely significant. Except maybe Watari, but right then, I wouldn't have been surprised if he bluntly admitted that he'd push the old man in front of oncoming traffic if he thought it would help him, if the way he'd talked to him earlier was any indication.

For a mad genius, he didn't know anything. Anything that mattered. A part of me can't help but wonder if he actively chose not to know.

To this day, I don't think I've met anyone as that absorbed with their job as he was. Computers only know and do and value what they're programmed to.

For another minute, I felt sorry for him, again. At least, until he spoke up.

Still not looking back at me, Fuzzy dangled another pair of cherries up to his nose, as though trying to see my reflection on their glossy red surface. "If I recall, you've said that you didn't wish to fight with me, anymore. I fail to see why you would suddenly be carrying on over matters unconcerning you."

I could feel my right eye start to twitch. "I don't. I don't want to fight with you," I said, finding myself already pushing the boundary between an inside voice and a shout. "All I'm saying is that was a really cruel and dirty thing to do, you shouldn't have done it, and you should go bring him back here. I'm not here to fight, honest!"

"Your body language indicates otherwise."

For some reason, that had me looking myself over. Sure enough, I saw my fists clenched out in front of me, out of a half-conscious desire to slug the guy in front of me. With a tight-lipped yelp, I quick hid both hands behind my back. In an argument, I either looked like a hothead or a weenie. I couldn't win.

I stiffened. My face breaking out into a slight sweat, my glasses slid all the way down to the precarious tip of my nose. In pushing them back up, that reminded me of something that was my problem.

Besides, old Aizawa had already boarded the last train out. It was too late to undo the damage L had dealt, and you couldn't count on him to admit he was wrong and apologize. Someone should go out and see him later for damage control. Maybe Matsuda? He and Aizawa didn't get along too great, but Matsuda spent the most time on the outside as it stood.

"O…okay, fine, how 'bout something that does concern me? Ryuzaki, where are my contacts? Watari said that you had them."

He gulped down two more cherries. "Oh, did he?" he mumbled between bites. Whether that bothered him or not, I couldn't tell.

"Y-yeah. Apparently, they came in a while ago. A long while ago. Any particular reason you never gave them to me?"

The seeds he spat out clinked around the inside of the bowl. "You never asked."

Boy, it was a wonder I didn't choke on my own spit. "I didn't think I was supposed to ask! When you forced me to stay with you, you said that all my needs would be provided for. That means you're obligated to give me my contacts when they come in, right? Because I need them!"

"Watari and Mr. Yagami wear corrective lenses, and they both manage to be highly efficient, anyway."

"What the hell, is that why you didn't tell the guys about that trust thing? Because they 'didn't ask?' God, you're just on some kind of roll today, aren't you? No wonder we're short-handed, with you calling the shots."

It was a wonder why there hadn't been a coup, yet. Then again, maybe it wasn't? L looked like the only guy here crooked enough to pull something like that.

"All right, knock it off, you two. Come on, Ryuzaki," said Light, organizing the sheets of paper in his hands into a neat stack. "If you have them, give Elin her contacts. Petty arguments are another thing we don't have room here for."

L grunted. For the longest time, he just sat there with his knees drawn in to his chest, silently protesting by delaying action. He always had to do things by his own terms, never by what anyone else wanted. Pretty much an "I'll get it when I feel like it" kind of mentality. For the world's greatest detective, he could be a real lump, sometimes.

Maybe that was what L stood for, "Lump?" Or "Liar." Boy, what a dirty liar he was.

Eventually, though, slow as hell, he reached behind the monitor of his computer to pull out a small package, pinching it in his crummy fingers.

Instead of handing it to me, he just placed it on the table, waiting for me to pick it up myself. I did, with a snort. "Thank you," I grumbled. Just because he didn't have manners, didn't mean that I couldn't have them. He couldn't take that from me. I wouldn't let him.

"Y'know, you should really listen to Aizawa. If anyone's in the right at all right now, it's him."

…

"I'm—I'm sorry. Did Ryuzaki make him do it or something?"

"No, no, he chose to go out there all by himself. He was...th-that kind of guy. We'd been trying to call the station to get them to stop the broadcast but no one was picking up. We couldn't even get a word in edgewise before he slammed the door behind him. Next thing we know he's on TV. Just...just lying there, on the ground in front of the building."

...

"Even Ryuzaki couldn't stop him?"

...

"He...did try to stop him, didn't he?"

"W-well, it was all happening pretty fast. And it's not like anyone saw it coming. Before this happened, we thought Kira needed both a name and face. We didn't even count on there being more than one Kira..."

…

I was left with Misa to vent my frustrations to. I didn't like doing that to her, but who else did I have to talk to? Matsuda and the others were preoccupied with investigating the newly suspected Yotsuba Group.

"I don't get it, Misa. If a guy tells you that your needs will all be met, then shouldn't he give you your contacts when they come in without you having to ask him? I mean, stop me if I'm wrong."

Misa sat on the sofa across from me, brushing her hair. "You're not wrong. If a guy gives you his word, he should live up to it. Good boyfriends are providers who keep promises they make. But then, this is Ryuzaki you're talking about. He's obviously never had a girlfriend before in his life."

I leaned my head back on the cushion to focus on the cream-colored ceiling, pinching the spot between my eyes. "Jeez, and the way he tricked Aizawa…that sucks."

I couldn't stop thinking about that, how he'd been "testing" him and all, and that look Aizawa had worn, the very last glimpse I'd catch of him for a while. He looked so…betrayed. L put him through that just to see how he would react? What a heel!

Maybe I was thinking it over too much, but was that his intention when he'd kept my contacts? To see how I would react? Or did he just not like me?

Couldn't say that the feeling wasn't mutual, in that case.

"Yeah, that was kinda mean of him, huh? But maybe it's better that Monchichi left when he did?"

"Aw, what? Jesus, he said the exact same thing."

"He's got like two babies and a wife at home. A little family. He's a good detective and he was a big help and all, but doesn't family come first?"

Misa's words were lighthearted enough, but I had to stop when I heard that. She didn't work with the task force any more than I did and she never talked about it much, but I guess she'd have at least some appreciation for family, herself.

Considering what happened to hers.

...

"A-and another thing: how come you keep talking about Ryuzaki like he could be boyfriend-material? If he can't treat his own men right, what makes you think he'd treat a lady any better?"

Misa switched her hair over to her other shoulder and ran the brush through it once or twice. "He isn't. Not perfect boyfriend-material anyway, like Light is. And nowhere near as good-looking."

"W-well I mean, maybe it'd be harsh to call him ugly but he's no Clark Gable™ or Cary Grant™ either, that's for sure." L was like one of those sickly scruffy-looking dogs or cats that you might adopt out of pity because you know that no one else will take him when they all want the cute kittens and puppies, and then when you do he thanks you by dumping in your shoes but you feel stuck with him because again, no one else will have him.

"But some people are selective about how they treat others. It may not be right but it's only natural; why would you treat a business partner the same way you would, your lover? Unless, you know, they're one and the same," she snickered.

Then, completely serious, she tacked on, "Misa thinks he likes you."

Well, that had me sitting up in an instant. I didn't know what to make of that, to be honest. I wasn't even sure I'd heard that right. "You think he what? That he likes me? Is that what you said?"

"Uh-huh," she said with a nod, no implications that she was just kidding me. None that I could see, anyway.

Suddenly, I found myself fidgeting in my seat. I had to crush my hands between my knees to steady myself. "Where'd you get that idea?" I somehow managed to ask, my eyes drifting towards the door while my mind began formulating an escape plan for when this conversation rose into bumpy territory. I couldn't say I was a hundred percent behind that idea. It sounded too rich. L seemed too self-absorbed and paranoid to ever like anyone in the way I thought Misa was referring to.

For another…if he "liked" me, he had a pretty squirrely way of showing it. I might not have minded being on good terms with the guy—friendly terms—if he wasn't such a jerk, not just to me, but to everybody.

Misa pressed a thoughtful finger to her cheek, her smile a little impish. "Well…haven't you noticed how his pupils dilate when he talks to you?"

"Er, Misa? News flash: his pupils are always dilated. With everybody. It's like he spent his whole life in a cave or something, and now his stupid eyes can't even adjust to real light. If you're gonna make assumptions on how he feels by his eyes, you might as well say that he's crushing on everybody. Even you and Light."

That was enough to stick a grimace on her face. "Ewwww…Misa doesn't want that. But at any rate, Misa thinks he likes you. Either he didn't give you your contacts 'cause he's just a lazy bum, or he secretly likes how you look in glasses. They do bring out the green in your eyes."

Probably, but only because I couldn't see zilch without the strongest eyeglass prescription ophthalmology had to offer.

"Or, he might just like how you get when you're mad. Maybe if he had a girlfriend he could be a pervert with all he wanted, he'd be too busy to bug me and Light?"

...

Did she have any idea what she'd just suggested?

Oh. Now I understood (maybe). Misa didn't care if L really liked me or not, much less whether the feeling was mutual. She just wanted him off of Light's back and hers. L was the single ugly weed in their love-garden; she'd do anything to get rid of him, even try to pair him up with a girl who didn't feel that way about him. Or take a weed-whacker to his head, if she got desperate enough.

Personally, I leaned more towards, "he's just a lazy bum." Or maybe he was PMS-ing because Light had found the new lead before he had, so he'd decided to blow off some steam by driving me crazy and making Aizawa cry. Who knew for sure? Not me. Not anyone.

I rose out of the sofa, stiffening the muscles in my face so she wouldn't see my discomfort. Boys could be an interesting topic, don't get me wrong, but only for so long, especially in the direction this was going. "All right, I think this conversation's gone on long enough. I'll get out of your hair, now."

Misa uncrossed her legs, eyeing me quizzically. "What's the matter? Don't you like talking to Misa? Why are you so wishy-washy?"

Trust me, Misa, I've asked myself the same thing. Personally, I think it's ADD.

"No, no, you're always a pleasure to talk to." For the most part. "I just don't wanna hold you up, is all. You're starting productions for that movie, aren't you? You might wanna, um, practice your lines or whatever."

Misa sat up with her arms akimbo. "You know, you're not gonna get very far as a journalist if you don't do something about that wishy-washiness. I wouldn't have gotten far as an idol if I was that way."

I could only groan. Ever since I first got involved in the goddamn case, my career had fallen into an absolute standstill. I would do something about it if I could. She didn't have to rub it in.

I didn't come back to her room, no matter how bored out of my sanity I felt as soon as the door shut behind me. I felt trapped, to be honest. Everybody else was downstairs working, the only person I could talk to wouldn't stop prattling about boys and dating, I had nothing to do—

…except the all-time favorite pastime of aimless wandering. God knew there was more than enough space to lose myself in the place. So, that's what I did. And boy, what I bumped into on the way down!

Well, not so much what as who.

As I was shuffling out of the elevator, I spotted two people in the hallway together. Two strangers: a man and a woman, both blonde, both in shades, both movie-star folks, going by their looks and classy wardrobe. I mean, they looked like bona fide movie stars, fresh from the red carpet.

Whoa! Who let Blonde and Blonder in the house?

I swear I came this close to having a full-blown panic attack on the spot, having to lean against the wall for support. Lately, I seemed to panic pretty easily. "Who the hell are you guys?" I cried out from down the hallway: something you should never do when confronted with intruders. In the movies, anyone who did that usually got a pressure point poked if they were lucky, or else there's a blunt object to the head, a bullet between the eyes, a knife across the throat, or what have you.

Miraculously, I got none of the aforementioned options. Both of them turned their heads, neither the less composed. The woman stared me down from behind her shades—from my viewpoint, she looked kind of menacing under that puffy black mink cap and stylish striped business suit, like a Russian assassin oozing with almost as much sex appeal of Marilyn Monroe™. The man, on the other hand, seemed much friendlier, as he lifted up his shades and flashed me a winsome smile. He had a kind of roguish glint in his blue eyes, and a faint stubble.

"Oh, don't mind us, young lady," he told me. "We're here on business."

"Wh-what business could you possibly—? You're not part of the team!"

…

"Are you?"

The woman spoke up: "Actually, hon, we are, as of now. Come on. He's waiting for us to make our big entrance." The two of them sounded American, for the most part, though the guy seemed a little French, too. Without another word, they moseyed on in there like they really were members of the team.

Who knew? Maybe they were? Maybe L had hired them as replacements for Aizawa? Hmph, that didn't take him long, did it? Why, I wouldn't have been all that surprised if he'd called them even before he'd chased Aizawa away. Guy was supposed to be good at thinking ahead, after all.

They didn't look like cops, though. In fact, I could honestly say that old Aizawa had more integrity than the two of them seemed to have combined. For a while, all I could do was stand there, my mind dashing in all directions as it tried to make a decision on what to do.

Guess what I wound up doing?

Swish!

"Ryuzaki, who's Blonde and Blonder?" I blurted, thus securing the runner-up place for the Asshole of the Year Award. For a painfully long moment, the entire room fell still, and from my spot, sweltering.

The man grinned at his companion. "I think you're Blonder, in this case."

"Oh, shut up."

Everyone looked up to glance at me in the doorway, none of them looking too happy to see me. Especially not L, even if he never actually looked happy, to begin with. In fact, he pushed me out of the spotlight: "Please ignore her. As I was saying, meet the newest members of the task force." While I couldn't say I was too damn crazy about his response, at least he'd shifted the attention back on the strangers. I stayed frozen in the doorway as the two stood up to introduce themselves.

"The name's Aiber," said the man, his hands tucked in his pockets. "I'm a con man. How's it going?"

"I'm Wedy," said the woman. "I'm a thief by trade."

Wow. How did I guess that those guys were shysters? Like we didn't already have enough shysters running around here…

Mr. Yagami frowned in disbelief. "A con man and a thief?"

"That's right," said L as he rose from his seat. "Aiber is a lifelong con man whose unparalleled social skills allow him to befriend and gain the trust of any target. We'll use him for infiltration. As for Wedy, she's a thief who specializes in cracking high-end security systems. As proof of that, she was able to enter the building without setting off a single alarm."

Boy, I couldn't even try to describe how safe that made me feel, especially the last part. Really. I felt so safe, I took two steps back.

"You expect us to work with criminals?" demanded Mr. Yagami.

"Yes, that is correct. However, these two have never once been caught, so it's unlikely that that'll be killed by Kira." L sounded like he knew them from somewhere. For crying out loud, what theater did he pick those guys up from? "Think of them as professionals of the underworld."

"You mean criminals," I muttered. As usual, no one listened.

"I have several more connections on reserve, some of them also criminals," he admitted. "We will contact them as needed."

He had more people like these two? So he was that kind of detective, huh?

"While none of them would prefer to show their faces—neither do I—I might ask some of them to move into this building. I couldn't summon them while you all were still with the police, but now that you aren't…"

Aw, what? Was that why he was leading the task force on? To make room for some more of these supposed associates? Aizawa didn't even spend the night here, for crying out loud.

As a matter of fact, they kind of embraced it, the concept of working with criminals. Not that they really had a choice, though, I guess. "I understand," said Light. "To investigate Yotsuba, we're going to need the help of people like this." Stretching out welcoming arms, he said to the group, "Let's all do our part to make this happen, okay?"

"Yeah!" cheered Matsuda.

"Erm…yeah," mumbled Mr. Yagami, none the more enthusiastic. I personally kind of started wishing Aizawa was back. He'd have made a much bigger stink on the matter.

Although...now that I'm sitting here thinking about it, from a certain point of view, it would kinda make sense. Being L, he'd need people to do the field work for him. The cops didn't like him much, and who better to ask for help in cracking down on the underworld than folks who knew their way around the place?

Did that mean the rest of us had to like it? Hell to the no.

Then L turned to Matsuda. "Matsuda?"

"Uh, yes, Ryuzaki?"

"We still don't have that coffee."

Matsuda choked, reeling as if he had just kneed him in the stones.

And the Asshole of the Year Award went to L instead, hands down.


	14. Stones

I always told Matsuda that he'd get his chance to shine, someday, if he'd just keep hanging on for an opportunity and jump on it when he saw it. Otherwise, it'd never come around, again. "They treat you like a klutzy intern now," I'd said. "But just wait. You'll show them. And when you do, they'll call you a hero! You'll bring all of us rookies justice, and the women will sing your praises! Shucks, maybe they'll even ask you to do an encore! This, I prophesize."

Of course, I was just messing around with him when I told him that, to cheer him up. No one else would. Although I really did believe that he could do it. He just needed a big break.

Well as it turned out, Matsuda took me seriously. He was about the only one who took me seriously. Or all of that flack he got from the rest of the team might've finally made something in him snap. Whatever went on through his head when he went through with it, I only knew this much: when I found out what he'd gone and done, I started to wish that I hadn't encouraged him. At least, not like that.

It was early October, Friday, just after the day had ended. Mr. Yagami had noticed a while ago that most of the murders committed by Kira, the ones benefiting Yotsuba, were concentrated around the weekends. Like Kira had some daytime job that was too important for him to quit for his cause. Most people capped off a hard work week with margaritas or a sleep-in, or both. Kira capped it off with murder.

(This is me trying to be funny in order to cope, and failing miserably.)

Matsuda and Misa were still out shooting for that new movie she was starring in. With everyone else working, I'd been left to my own devices—namely, the TV, to polish my Japanese. Even with the little time we spent together anymore, I still had to keep practicing Japanese if I didn't want to lose my ability to speak it. New skills are funny like that. If you don't practice them on a regular basis, the brain performs an enema on itself and flushes it out. Kinda like what happens when kids get off from school for summer vacation.

I'd been watching TV for a while, idly surfing through the channels for something that could rein in my spotty attention span, when all of a sudden, I started to feel weird, kind of tingly. Not the good kind of tingly, either, like I felt when I sensed a great story on my hands. I mean the kind of tingly that made me feel like something was wrong. No details; just, something. 

I didn't pay much attention to it, at first, being it too vague to give it any real thought. Besides, ever since I'd gotten wrapped up in the case, I'd picked up the habit of feeling that way quite often, to a point where I wasn't sure if I could take my own intuition seriously anymore. Only when the tingle started to manifest itself in fidgeting did I lose interest in the TV. No matter how tightly I clung to my pillows, it wouldn't stop.

When my foot began to rattle, I got up to pace around the room to make it stop. But when I did that, the fidgeting only shot up into my hands, which I had taken up wringing. God, did I feel strange. I've kind of always been the nervous type before Kira, but sometimes I found it a miracle that I hadn't turned into a complete basket case after all this time. I guess I owed most of that to my buddy, Matsuda.

Matsuda…

When would he and Misa come back from the shoot, anyway? Boy, did I miss him. Had he called yet? I had no means of calling him myself, so that left me little choice but to go downstairs and ask L if he had. Anything to ease my state of mind. Staying in my room sure as hell wouldn't help my nerves.

I even took the stairs. I was never particularly built for steep climbs, but I just couldn't bear fidgeting around in the elevator. I needed something to burn off the excess energy.

I had just gotten down to the top step of the last flight, just above their heads, practically out of breath but none the more relaxed, when I heard Watari speaking to the gang through the computer.

"Ryuzaki?" 

L set his plate of cake down on the table. "Yes? What is it?"

"Detective Eraldo Coil has just received a private request to investigate and reveal the identity of L." 

Coil…I'd heard of him, vaguely. He was supposed to be the world's second-greatest detective, right? While I stayed clear back, daring only to peek over the railing, everyone dropped everything to huddle around the Cloister Black "W" on the monitor. "Isn't Coil supposed to be the second-greatest detective in the world?" asked Mr. Yagami. "After L, himself? Who on earth would send such a request?"

A window featuring the image of a cold business man in glasses popped up in place of the "W." "The man who sought out Coil's services is Masahiko Kida, the head of the Rights and Planning Department of the Yotsuba Group's headquarters in Tokyo. 100 thousand dollars up front, and one million, 400 thousand if successful." 

How many zeros was that, again?

"So it is Yotsuda!" exclaimed Mr. Yagami. "It's said that Coil is the go-to for tracking people down, and will take on any case as long as the money is good."

"We know that Yotsuba must be linked to Kira," said his son. "If they're trying to find out L's identity, it's probably because they want to kill him and need that information to do it."

Mr. Yagami shook his head, the creases on his brow deepening with anxiety. "This is bad. We're already short-handed enough as it is, and now we have to deal with Coil, too…"

Couldn't say that helped my mood, either, Mr. Yagami. My grip on the railing tightened, my knees suddenly buckling under me until I was kneeling on the steps. What lengths would these yahoos take on their quest to strike it rich?

Naturally, the only one who wasn't breaking out into a sweat about it was L, who continued to shovel chunks of shortcake into his mouth, as nonchalant as could be. "It's quite all right," he murmured with his mouth full. "The detective known as Eraldo Coil is me."

I swear, if I hadn't been hanging on so tightly to the railing, I might've rolled right down those damn stairs and broke my neck. In the meantime, everyone gasped.

Ignoring the stifling atmosphere of the room, L gulped. "It's simple, really. The three greatest detectives in the world—L, Coil, and Deneuve—they're all actually me. It's been my experience that people who try to find me usually fall for this. Watari acts as an intermediary between the other two."

He reached over to pick up the strawberry he had been ignoring up until that point, and held it out to the team. "I'll give you this strawberry if you keep it a secret, okay?" A strawberry, for Christ's sake! The guy is made of money, and he bribes them with a strawberry! A strawberry from his little piece of cake, at that. That killed me. L: he was no ordinary jerk. It killed me even more when Moji—whose real name was Mogi—wound up pocketing the fruit in his jacket, like he would with a fat stack.

"I'm impressed as always, Ryuzaki," marveled Light. My mind was sure blown out of the water. "Three Greatest Detectives All the Same Jerk!" What a headliner! How exclusive! As exclusive as exclusive ever had been or could be!

…And at the same time, yet another juicy tidbit that I would never get to share with the world. In spite of my anxiety, that kind of depressed me. More than I could describe. Not only because I'd never be believed, not only because L would never let me talk about it, but because…in a way, it'd feel wrong. I mean, if people really had tried to go after him in the past, and he had that set-up to protect himself…

As soon as they got a look at Kida's employee profile, Mr. Yagami asked, "Do you think Kida could be Kira?"

"I don't think so," said Light.

"Are you sure? Why, wouldn't the fact that he's Kira mean that he could just extort money from Yotsuba?"

"That would mean that he helped to raise Yotsuba's stocks and got money out of it. There are a lot of ways to get money, Dad. If Kira were desperate enough, he could just contact Yotsuba's CEO and threaten him into giving him more money."

"That's true," noted L dryly. "The mere fact that Kida issued this request to Coil does not implicate him."

The team had already begun making a plan to use old Kida's request to their advantage. Aiber was assigned the role as the detective decoy. "All right. I just have to get close to them, right? Leave it to me."

Wedy held a lit cigarette up to her lips, taking a long, cool drag. "And you want me to make sure that we're able to breach the security and override the surveillance cameras in the Yotsuba Group's head office…is that all?" she asked smugly, like she felt that her workload was too light for a lady of her talents. Even from my spot on the top step, the sickly sweet smell of burning tobacco stung my nostrils. Only went to show how much she cared about common courtesy.

She never took her shades off while indoors, either. Which wouldn't have bothered me any if it weren't for the fact that L let her get away with it, but would get anal if I had my hat on indoors. L was the king of double-standards.

L crouched in his swivel chair in the middle of the huddle. "Yes. At this point, it's safe to assume that Kira and the Yotsuba Group are connected in some way. We're going to investigate Yotsuba to determine who holds Kira's power, and if there is more than one person who has this ability. We need a clear understanding, quickly."

More than one?

Oh, right. There were supposed to be two Kiras, or something. As if one weren't enough…

That tingly feeling that sent me down the stairs in the first place began to flare. I badly wanted to ask L if Matsuda had called yet, but how could I? Not while they were striking up a plan, I couldn't.

"Keep in mind that Kira's power depends on his knowledge of someone's name and face, and that it's transferable between people, so we cannot let anyone from Yotsuba discover that we are investigating them. Please realize that if they do notice, it means that we won't be able to catch Kira."

Like we didn't already know that, I thought with a huff. When the hell is he gonna stop talking? 

"...We need concrete evidence that whoever is acting as Kira does in fact have his power and has indeed been killing people. This will be a dangerous mission, so please be sure not to act impulsively, out of panic or haste, and don't take matters into your own hands."

Bee-beep! 

"Ryuzaki?" Watari cut in.

L threw his weight to whirl his chair around so he was facing the monitor. "What is it?"

Then, Watari said the very last thing I'd wanted to hear: "I've just received an emergency signal from Matsuda's belt." 

L stared at the "W" with a glazed face, like he hadn't appreciated the interruption. He didn't like it when people cut him off (though he could cut you off with no problem), since he loved talking so much, it being part of his oral fixation. Especially if it concerned Matsuda. One time, for instance, he used the belt when we got a flat on our way back from shopping for Mogi's birthday, and we didn't have a jack. Like this were just another instance of Matsuda's normal antics, he asked, "Oh, where is he?"

"It seems…that it's coming from within the head office of the Yotsuba Group." 

Mr. Yagami turned pale. "He's where?"

Everyone seemed to huff in agitation. I must've been the only one who didn't. In fact, it took until L swiveled back around to glare out into space to realize that I'd stopped breathing.

"Disregard everything I've just said. We need to rethink our strategy. Matsuda, you idiot," he growled, like he suddenly had the hankering to kick the guy the next time he'd see him…if any of us got to see him again.

The idea of otherwise had me flying down those steps without a mite's worth of consideration; it was a miracle I hadn't slipped and snapped my ankle. "He's at Yotsuba? Oh man, he didn't get caught, did he? Please tell me he didn't get caught!" I shrieked, my knees colliding with the arm of the sofa so I could collapse into a blubbering heap on the cushions. Not my most graceful entrance.

Everyone glanced back at me like the yappy dog who'd somehow managed to scuffle back in the house. "Where'd you come from? Does…she do that a lot?" Aiber asked.

"Yes. She does," said L.

"Matsuda sent an emergency signal," said Light, his face darkened with worry. "That probably means that he has been caught."

Aiber folded his arms across his chest. "Then I guess that means he's toast," he sighed.

"NO, he can't be toast! H-h-he's got so much going for him! R-Ryuzaki, you can get him out, cant'cha? G-get 'im outta there! PLEASE, get 'im the hell outta there!" I wailed. I was so shaken up, I was practically bawling, too fearful of my friend's fate to try to hold back. I mean, whether the team would do anything to help him entirely depended on L, and he didn't seem like the type to take action just because some girl begged him to. A girl he called a nuisance, no less.

Naturally, he remained stony. "Please settle down, Miss Crocker. Mr. Mogi, sit down with her. Mr. Yagami, the only items Matsuda should have on him when he goes out are his phone and his business cards with his alias. Is that right?"

"Yes. I've distinctly told him that those are the only things he needs to carry around," said Mr. Yagami, suddenly looking doubtful. "You don't think he's brought Misa with him, do you?"

"Unfortunately, we can never be sure when it comes to Matsuda," muttered Light. I wished they'd stop talking trash about him behind his back, especially when he was in danger. If Matsu really had gone to spy on the Yotsuba Group, he wouldn't be that stupid as to get Misa in trouble, too. Had these guys any faith in him at all? I didn't count on L to—he never seemed to have faith in anything or anyone—but surely Mr. Yagami and the others did?

"In that case, Mr. Yagami, please give me your cell phone."

Mr. Yagami handed L his cell phone, while Mogi sat me down on the couch, whereupon I felt his grip on my shoulder slacken. He didn't say a word—he always was the strong, silent type—but judging by the stiffness of his face, I could tell he had no real idea how to provide comfort. I'd put him in an awkward spot. I didn't blame him. If I had to sit with myself like that on the couch, I wouldn't know how to handle me, either.

L punched in a number on the keyboard, pinching the phone by the top as he lifted it up to his ear. "Before we can make any moves, we must first assess his situation."

"Isn't calling Matsuda right now a little risky, Ryuzaki?" Light questioned.

"I'll play my cards right."

Waiting for poor Matsuda to pick up had to be one of the longest moments of my life. With my knuckles clenched white in my lap, I kept my burning eyes fixed on L, to see how he'd go about this.

Come on, Matsuda…pick up…please pick up. What if those Yotsuba guys had already done him in? No! Don't think like that, Erin! If you think that way, it might happen. 

Somehow over the howl of my pulse, I heard a shaky voice answer: "H-hello?" Just hearing his voice was enough to relax the clench in my fists, however slightly.

You wouldn't believe how L answered back. "Yo, Matsui!" He managed to tweak his voice so that he'd sound like a frat boy, happy-go-lucky and giddy from too many cold ones. That killed me, but in a way, it kind of scared me, too. I don't know why it scared me, it just did. I guess because I didn't think he had it in him. That L: every day, he found a new way to freak me out.

"Ah, it's me, Asahi! It's been awhile, buddy."

"Asahi, yeah, it's been a long time!" 

"Doesn't sound like you're out, right now; don't tell me you're home, already."

"Y-yeah…"

"So, you by yourself?"

"Yeah. I'm by myself. What's up?" 

L lowered the phone and cupped a hand over it, returning to his normal monotone as abruptly as he had dropped it. "He's not with Misa Amane, right now," he whispered. "Matsuda must be on his own." The others nodded in understanding.

Oh, I got it. Was this some kind of sophisticated code he'd made up off the top of his head to ask Matsuda what was going on? Damn, was he good. How good, though, would depend on whether we could still save Matsuda.

He lifted the phone back up to his ear, adopting his pseudo-voice again. "So, like, do ya wanna go out drinking t'night?"

For a so-called "idiot," Matsuda didn't miss a beat, either. "Huh? Right now? Oh, sorry. I'll have to pass tonight." 

"Aww, what'sa matter? Don't tell me your wallet's in trouble, again."

"Yeah, that's right! Biiig troubles with money! You know me way too well," Matsuda tittered. By the way he sounded, someone must've been there with him, listening in on everything. Probably one of those Yotsuba bastards.

L lowered the phone. "Matsuda says he's in big trouble," he whispered. Apprehension scrunched everyone's faces as he spoke back into the phone. "Aw, what a drag. Guess I'll pull ya out some other time, m'awright? See ya, buddy!"

Click. The sound of L's hanging up sounded like the slap of a coffin lid in my ears. I'd been wringing my hands around so much, it was a wonder I didn't rip my fingers out of their sockets. Meanwhile, Light pulled out his own cell phone, to call Misa. By the look on his face, she must not have been picking up.

"Misa, it's me. Call me back as soon as you can, I'll have my cell on." Click. "Misa's cell is on voicemail, right now. I've left her a message and told her to get back to me as soon as she can."

"W-well, are we just gonna sit around, or are we gonna get 'im the hell outta there?" I squeaked.

"What are you planning to do, Ryuzaki?" Mr. Yagami asked, trying to rein in his worry. "He's all alone over there, and from the sound of things, someone was there with him listening in."

L whirled around to face the monitor, hands cupped over his knees. "Well…we have to consider that if Matsuda dies," he said thoughtfully, "our suspicions about the Yotsuba Group would be confirmed."

WHAT? Whoa-whoa, wait a minute! 

Of course no one else was too keen on that idea, but I was the only one who voiced our objection. I sprung out of the sofa like I'd sat on a tack, a fresh coat of tears stinging my eyes. "Are you kidding? Y-you wouldn't dare! You wouldn't dare ditch one of your own!" I barked, voice cracking like an egg. "If you were over there with your melon on the chopping block, he wouldn't have ditched you!"

The thing was, maybe he would leave Matsuda with the wolves? He'd had no qualms about chasing poor Aizawa out of the task force, or at least, he hadn't shown any. Ukita had died trying to stop the Second Kira, and he hadn't lifted a finger to stop him from going out there in the first place. Whether he felt an inkling of guilt about any of it had yet to be seen.

What made it worse, L was talking about ditching Matsuda right after he'd called him, after giving the poor guy hope for salvation. Who calls someone when they need help, and then decides it would be better to just leave them out to dry? Who does that?

L just grunted. "That's because I wouldn't get into such a position in the first place. Miss Crocker, with all due respect, your outbursts are not conducive to finding a solution. Please be quiet."

Translation: "Shut up, quit being such a pain in my ass."

Yeah? Likewise, L.

Mogi guided me back into my seat. By that point, I'd resolved to staring down at the cold linoleum, suddenly unable to keep my head up. My face smoldered, like I'd gotten chewed out by a principal, or just someone in general who had more authority than I could ever have, however unreasonable.

Light shot L a reproachful look. "He doesn't mean it like that. He only meant that it wouldn't be wise for us to make any big moves just yet."

"Indeed. I don't recall ever saying that that was our final decision. Let's just watch the situation, for the time being."

I opened my mouth to protest, but Mogi just squeezed my shoulder, shaking his head. A wise man, Mogi was. He knew that once those two got an idea, you couldn't shake them from it, no matter how bad you thought it was. All you could do was keep quiet, hope to God they knew what they were doing, and have a backup plan in case things didn't work out (and given the type of plans they made, hopefully you wouldn't need to come up with a backup).

So, I waited with the rest of them. I swear, I could hear every second ticking by like a footstep: Death's footsteps, drawing closer and closer to Matsuda with a machete raised high over his head. For a while there, I thought I liked L's party-dude persona better, even if it'd been phony baloney.

Minutes later, Light's phone rang.

"Misa?"

"Light! I'm sorry I've been working so much! I'll be finished soon, 'kay?" 

"Misa, you're not with Matsuda at the moment, are you?"

"Him?" she huffed. "He's a total jerk. He just ran off and left me here." 

Boy, did that piss me off, all of a sudden. See? That was exactly why he'd gone and jumped the gun like he did! He felt like dead weight compared to everyone else. All he'd wanted to do was prove himself…to prove that he had stones.

"Oh! Hang on, I'm getting a call on my work phone…oh, hey, it's from Matsu." 

Light turned to the rest of the gang. "Misa's just received a call from Matsuda."

"Matsu?" I yelped, springing out of my seat, only to have Mogi sit me back down. I'd become a real pain in the ass about that, hadn't I?

"Tell her to hold her phone so that we can listen in, as well," ordered L. Light gave her the instructions. I couldn't say how much of a relief it felt to hear Matsuda's voice again. Those Yotsuba guys must've been taking their sweet time. I hoped they'd take forever. Literally.

"Misa-Misa, when you're finished filming, come over to the Yotsuba Group's head office! It's still tentative, but there's a chance you may be able to appear in Yotsuba's commercials. We're working it out, now." 

"Whaaat, for real?" Misa squealed with delight. "You're amazing, Matsu! So THAT'S what you've been up to, all this time! Don't worry, we're wrapping up soon." 

"Great! It's just a short trip by taxi. When you get here, ask for...Hatori, from Marketing!" 

Didn't I always say that Matsuda was a sweetheart? He must've used his manager ploy to cover himself when the Yotsuba guys had caught him. Plus, he'd helped to further Misa's career! Two birds with one stone!

"Oh, Light, did you hear that? Misa's gonna appear in Yotsuba's commercials!" 

"Misa, wait. I don't think you should go to Yotsuba."

"Huh? Why not, Light? No matter how big or shiny of a star I become, I'll always be Misa..." 

"No, it's not that, it's—hold on."

Just then, I saw L reach up to tug at Light's shirt sleeve, just when he was about to explain his objection. Once he got his handcuff mate's attention, he said, "Listen to me, Light. There is a chance that we may be able to save Matsuda. But we won't be able to do it without Misa's help. Let her go to Yotsuba. She'll listen to you and do anything you say, won't she?"

Hoping mostly for the sake of hoping, my eyes began to dry. So…L would save Matsuda, after all?

Huh. Maybe there was a glimmer of hope for the guy, yet?

…

The plan, as it turned out, was to lure the men to Misa's apartment—the headquarters—for a reception, a party with food, drinks, everything but the kitchen sink, hosted by Misa-Misa and her buddies from her modeling agency. The girls would use their feminine charm and stuff to distract them while old Matsuda made his great escape. All well and good—

…until I somehow wound up getting involved.

I had to twist my pinkie around in my ear just to clear any blockages. My ears had been thundering quite a bit since this whole problem had started. "Uh…sorry, I don't think I caught that. You want me to what?"

"We're really sorry, Elin," said Light. "We need everyone from the agency for this to work, but one of them is out sick. We think it'd just be easier if you stepped in as a replacement. Just until Matsuda gets the chance to escape."

I blinked at them all. "So…you want me to get all dolled up, and hang out with a bunch of sleazeball businessmen that you think are murder suspects?"

"…Well, not exactly how I would word it, but yeah, pretty much," answered Light with a funny look.

Naturally, I didn't put much thought into my answer; more hand-waving than anything else. "Whoa, whoa, what d'ya take me for? I'm sorry, but I—I'm not exactly model-material. You'd be better off driving a bus through the freaking building, I mean it."

For some reason, I could've sworn I saw Mr. Yagami cringe a little.

I quick pointed at Wedy. "You want a model so bad, get Wedy to do it. Look at her, she's a—she's a freakin' bombshell! Plus, she's a con."

Wedy took a drag of her cigarette, eyeing me from above her shades. "Actually, hon, I'm a thief. Aiber's the con around here. Besides, I'm too old and mature to walk around with those girls."

I threw my arms in the air. "Then get Aiber to do it, for Christ's sake! Slap a dress on 'im and send him out. I don't care! I'm just not doing it!" I folded my arms over my chest like a shield. Look, I wanted Matsuda saved and all, but…I don't know, there was just something about the concept of getting dolled up for a bunch of seedy businessmen that bothered the hell out of me, scared me, even. I had nothing in particular against make-up and whatnot; I just didn't do it often. I always felt that special occasions called for that stuff. This particular occasion didn't exactly match what I'd had in mind.

"Ryuzaki, you're not gonna have me do it, are you?" I asked, expecting him to refuse me any form of social contact with outsiders, especially suspects.

But here was the extremely squirrely thing about L: it seemed that no matter what I wanted, he had to go in the polar opposite direction. No joke. "I don't see why you would refuse to do this. All you have to do is serve refreshments and engage in trite conversation. Distract them: something you are fairly talented at."

Was that supposed to be a compliment? Even when L tossed a compliment—something he generally didn't do, anyway—it still sounded like an insult.

"Besides, you do want to save Matsuda, don't you?"

My hand found its way up to the collar of my shirt. I should've guessed that he'd use my friendship with Matsuda against me. Manipulation was his game. "W-well, yeah, I do. But I—"

Just then, Aiber walked over to kneel down to my level and take my hand off of my collar, holding it in his own. "I think I see what the problem is," he said with a warm smile. "Elin here would love to go up there to help Matsuda. She just doesn't think she's pretty enough to do it."

I turned my head to look away, but Aiber reached up to press a hand against my cheek and turn it back. I wanted to tell him to take his dirty hand off my face—only God knew where that thing had been—but what squeaked out of my throat instead was, "Shut up, that's—that's not it. It really isn't." I shook my head in an attempt to get him to let go. His hand burned against my cheek, or my cheek burned against his hand, as the case was.

Then he moved downward to take both my hands in his own, and really started laying down the butter: "Listen. Your insecurities are completely unfounded. Right now, your friend Matsuda needs you. The girls up there could use a pretty, smart and friendly girl like you to get those guys off of his back. How's about going up there to show them what you got?"

I don't know if he meant any of that. Most likely, he was just buttering me up into doing what they wanted. And believe it or not, my stupid sucker self fell for it. As someone who had been called high and crazy and whatnot for most of her career, I had an extra-sensitivity to compliments or something. I ate them up, like chocolate. Compliments and flattery are a lot like chocolate, if you think about it: they make you feel pretty good for a while, but too much of the stuff will rot your brains out, as chocolate rots out your teeth.

That's not a good excuse for being a sucker, though. I should've thought myself lucky that they'd just asked me to take a lipstick for Matsuda and not something like a bullet. Because the way I felt at that moment, between Aiber's buttering me up and Matsuda's facing down the barrel, I probably might've.

"I…I won't have to give 'em lap dances or anything, will I?" What a stupid question, I'm not even sure why I asked that. Misa and her friends were models, not strippers.

My superpower: saying the darndest things with less than ten percent thought put into them, and that's being generous.

"Not at all," said L. "Simply to serve refreshments and to talk to them."

Finally, I felt my knuckles crack in foolhardy conviction as I stood up from the sofa. Matsuda needed me. All the rookies in the world needed me to clear their name. "Okay. I'll do it. For Matsui."

L turned to face Mogi. "Mogi, please escort Miss Crocker to Misa's room to get ready." He must've sent the toughest guy to go with me in case I'd get cold feet and try to back down. "Matsuda and the Yotsuba Group will be here soon, so I would suggest that you don't waste time. Remember: we cannot let them know that we are investigating them, so I would recommend that you don't say anything suspicious. Be careful."

"Hm. Way to turn on the charm, Aiber," Wedy muttered with a smirk.

…

The girls from the agency were already up in Misa's room, setting up platters and everything. Once we'd told them that I'd come up to give them an extra pair of hands, they welcomed me with open arms. Two of them even guided me into the bathroom to help fit me into my outfit. From the moment the bathroom door shut behind me, I knew there'd be no turning back. Panic was no longer an option.

I'd had this worry in the back of my head that I'd have to walk around in skimpy lingerie or something, with fuzzy cat or bunny ears and my boobs hanging out and all, but luckily, that was far from the reality. The get-up they squeezed me into was much more conservative than I would've guessed. Well, for the most part. I mean, the skirt was kind of short for my tastes, it showed off more of my midriff than I would've liked, and the sleeveless top had a heart-shape cut into it to display a little cleavage. Plus, the entire thing felt tight as hell, even though it stretched. But yeah, it could've been worse. Leave as much as you can to the imagination, it's sexier that way, isn't it?

Everyone dressed in pretty much the same thing, but in different colors; I got the orange one. One girl divided my hair into two braids, while the other applied the make-up. They were awfully nice about the whole deal. I wouldn't open my eyes until the transformation had been completed. To be honest, I was a little scared to. I was scared of what I would see. If I hadn't liked it, I might've tried to wiggle them off.

As soon as one girl set down the brush she'd been using to apply blush, she cheered, "Okay! Open your eyes! Aww, you look so kawaii!"

My eyes popped open. "What'd you call me?" Before I ever got my answer, however, my eyes caught the reflection in the mirror. The reason I'd say "the reflection" instead of "my reflection" was because I could barely, if at all, recognize the bewildered girl staring back at me through the glass. She looked like me, and yet, she didn't. She looked pretty, cute, foxy, even. Like one of those leading ladies in the movies.

I pointed at the girl in the mirror, as she did the same. "I…is that me? Is that really me?"

The girls nodded. "Do you like it?"

Ha! Like it? Boy, my ego must've shot up right through the ceiling, all the way up the following floors, and clean through the roof of the whole damn building. I didn't even want to step away from that mirror. Sure got my imagination running wild. Erin Blogger: bumbling crackpot journalist by day, foxy undercover journalist by night, I thought with a smirk teasing my lips. Yeah. I could get used to that, probably. 

"I think we should get going. The guests will be here any minute," the girls said.

I waved them off. "Yeah, yeah, hang on a sec. Gimme a minute to survey the paint job, will ya?" In that moment, all I wanted to do was turn and twist and admire the reflection that was supposed to be mine, like a little girl playing dress-up as a princess. That's how mad I was about myself, I swear to God.

At least, that's how I felt until I got a look at the back. What I saw back there pretty much all but killed my buzz. My ass was hugene.

I've kind of always been on the plump side: not morbidly obese, or else they would've never asked me to go out as a model, but not slender, either, like the other girls in the room. That used to bother me, when I was growing up. My parents first told me that it was "just baby fat; it'll come off when you get older." When I got older, and not much changed, my parents changed their rationalization: they told me that my appetite for life was too great and wouldn't allow me a more trim figure. "But that's okay! Guys dig full-bodied girls; the bigger their appetite, the better! I would know!"

(Cue Dad nervously assuring Mom that no, he was not calling her fat, he swears.)

I wanted to believe them, so I gave up on trying so hard to lose weight. I wasn't that heavy, and I'd found more important things to occupy me, anyhow, so for the most part, the subject didn't cross my mind again.

Until now. Somehow, it looked like all the dough in my gut had been squeezed into my butt. Right now, it looked like I'd had a microwave oven shoved into my skirt. I could've carried snack trays on that thing, if I felt like it!

In short: the dress made me look fat. Oh, that age-old dilemma...

"Yeah, I don't think this is gonna work," I blurted. My face faded into a bright pink, and not just from the rouge.

The girls blinked at me in confusion. "What's wrong? Don't you like how you look?" They must have thought I didn't like the effort they'd put into prettying me up, and right away, I felt sorry for hurting their feelings. I hadn't meant to.

I sat on the toilet seat, arms folded and legs crossed. Japan had pretty fancy toilets, the kind with seat-warmers. Perfect for when you need to visit the throne in the middle of the night. "Do I have to say it? Please don't make me say it. Y-you guys can do it without me after all, can't ya?"

"But didn't you say you came up here because you were thinking about going into modeling and wanted to see the ropes?"

Just then, we heard somebody's knuckles rapping on the door. "Is everyone ready?" called Misa. "Misa's got the Yotsuba Group waiting just outside the door!"

One girl opened the door for her. "Misa, we have a teeny problem. Your friend won't come out of the bathroom."

Misa poked her head into the bathroom, already in her pink variation of the uniform. "What? Why?"

"I don't know. She just won't come out."

Well, Misa would have none of that. Before I could establish a grip on the toilet seat, she came charging in there to yank me off by the forearm. "I swear, Elin, you pick the worst times to turn wishy-washy!" she huffed. I didn't say so, but I agreed with her, from the bottom of my heart.

"I can't go out there, Misa! I'm not decent!" Not "fat," just "not decent." My fingers fumbled for the doorknob as a kind of anchor, but I was no match for Misa. Girl almost dislocated my arm as she and her peeps dragged me out.

"Nonsense! You look beautiful. Look, do you want to help Matsu escape, or don't you?"

That was enough to drain the resistance out of me. At that point, I'd become more hesitant than resistant. This was pretty damn selfish of me, ducking out just because my tush was a little big. "Y-yeah. But I dunno if I got what it takes to distract those guys. I'm not a femme fatale like you are." I couldn't help it. What if I screwed us all over? No, more importantly, why had L agreed to have me here, in the first place?

Misa shoved me out into the den, where the other girls were already in formation. "Every girl has charm, Elin. You just haven't unlocked yours, yet. Don't worry, just follow Misa and do what she does."

With that, Misa left to beckon our suit-clad guests and Matsuda inside.

"Good evening!" we chorused. "We're very pleased to meet you!" I said my line with my eyes shut. If I'd been looking at those guys while I'd said it, my tongue would've gotten stuck on the roof of my mouth, never to be peeled off. While I did, I tried to access my memory on the chicks I'd seen in the movies, how they held themselves with men and everything.

Misa stood at the front of the room with her most dazzling smile. "Tonight, Misa will be entertaining you as our special guests, along with the girls from the agency."

The eight of them stood there for a while, bemused as hell. Matsuda flanked their left side, tittering the whole time as he tried to remain friendly-looking. Poor guy: he looked like his stones had ducked into his abdomen. I wanted to run over there to hug him—I also wrestled with the temptation to rough him up some for this stunt of his—but couldn't. Now was the very worst time to do that.

"Hey," I heard one of them say. "Is it just me, or is this getting weird?" Tell me about it.

"It can't be helped," said another. "Right now, we can't afford to leave Misa's manager alone for a second." My hands twitched with the urge to clench into fists. Did he think that no one would catch that? The other girls must've thought he meant that they wanted to get to know Misa and her manager more to see if this deal would work, but Matsu, Misa and I, we knew better...

"Oh, let's just go with it," resigned a third member of the pack. "I'm going to enjoy myself." With a murmured chorus of agreement, they shuffled in with fuzzy pink slippers on their feet, an outlandish contrast to the cold jet black of their suits.

Never did I feel more grateful that I hadn't had to wear high heels for the occasion, what with everyone in their socks and slippers. With all the scuttling around that I did, I was thanking God for such a little favor as cultural idiosyncrasies. I felt too nervous to talk to any of them, but too nervous to stay in one place. I felt trapped, and not just because my top was squeezing the wind out of me.

Just to do something, I had resolved solely to passing out sushi rolls and pouring sake, a native alcoholic drink. I felt like I was doing something illegal, to be honest: serving older gentlemen drinks when I myself wasn't technically old enough to drink. But I was going by the American drinking laws. They were probably different in Japan. They had to be, or else Misa wouldn't be doing it to further her career.

About ten minutes into the shindig, I found Matsuda standing flustered by the vanity, a drink clutched in his hand in order to hide how petrified he really was. With bottle in my own hand, I ran up to him, whispering under the hum of the room, "Matsui, you're okay!"

"Ahaha, I sure am! F-for now, anyway."

I couldn't help but scowl. I wanted to let him have it for making me worry so damn much, but circumstances wouldn't allow it. I'd have to wait until we were all safe and sound. I did, however, tell him as I refilled his cup, "Well? What'cha waiting for? Go on! Make your grand escape. Nobody's lookin'!"

"I-I can't do anything right now. It's too early."

"Too early? I say that you're getting later and later with every second you waste hanging out with these yahoos," I hissed. "Yahoos who are, need I remind you, trying to—"

"Oh, there you are!" Misa came up from behind me to pull me away, sneaking a wink at Matsuda on the way. "Everyone wants some sake. Don't—oh, what do you say?—don't bogart it. Tell you what: Misa will take over on drink duty, while you spend some time chatting up our guests."

I bit my lower lip as I stole a glance of the men lounging on the couches. None of them were doing anything particularly perverted, but I couldn't say that their energy was too pleasant, like a bunch of hot-air balloons inflating themselves to impress the ladies. "Do I have to?" I asked lamely, like she'd asked me to take out the trash.

Misa shrugged. "You're a journalist, aren't you? Aren't journalists supposed to be able to mingle with people?" She got me there. Besides, I had to do everything in my power to distract them until Matsuda got his stones back to make his escape. Ah, the sacrifices you make in the name of journalism! And friendship.

I gulped, shuffling around in a crab-walk as I scanned the room for a guy who didn't already have a girl under his arm. I found one behind the couch, keeping to himself. He looked like the very cool and imperial type, too high above everyone in the room for small talk.

But, Misa did say that I had to talk to somebody. So I scurried my way over in my little sporadic crab-walk. "Hey, how's it going?" I asked him, then remembered that I'd forgotten the bow. "I-I mean—"

I hastily bowed from the waist. "I hope you're enjoying yourself, Mr.…?"

"Namikawa," he answered, like he'd expected me to already know his name. "And yes, I am enjoying myself, thank you very much." He paused to brush a lock of his long black hair behind his ear. In the meantime, from behind him, I caught a glimpse of old Matsuda slinking into the bathroom, a giddy grin sprawled over his glazed face. The tipsy face.

Yeah, Matsuda! Flush yourself down the toilet, if you have to. They'd never see it coming! 

"How are you in sake? Are you juiced enough yet?" Okay, maybe I shouldn't have said it like that.

Namikawa arched a tweaked eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

My hands fiddled behind my back as I resisted the urge to rock back and forth. "Ah, would you like more sake? You look parched. Running a company like Yotsuba must make you awfully thirsty."

"Not necessarily. Not when you know what you want and how to go about getting it." Old Namikawa was polite and all, but something about how he said that made me wonder if he knew that I was new to this (hopefully in the sense that I was a new model in the agency, not some shmuck who'd never gone undercover before). Nobody likes newbies. Even if they were newbies too, once.

"Do you have any role models, Mr. Namikawa? Mine's Misa-Misa; I'm learning everything I can from her. She's awesome. And I'm not just saying that to get you to consider having her for your campaigns."

Sweat and make-up do not mix.

"Role models are good to have. I have my father, who's president of our company's American division. But I like to think of myself as more of a self-motivated man."

America. Home sweet home. My own mother is into business, but has been accepting of the fact that her kids won't be following in her footsteps ("Hey, it's your life, not mine. I don't feel the need to live through my children. That being said, try not to do anything stupid or illegal. Depending on what you did, I may or may not bail you out.")

Oh, Mom. What would you and Dad think if you could see me then?

"Wow, self-made? That must make you really thirsty, then."

"Well, thank you for the offer, but..."

Even with my foxy looks, I was still dopey old Erin Blogger under the mascara. You can slap a tuxedo on a monkey, but that won't civilize it.

Speaking of sharp-dressed monkeys, while Namikawa brushed off my offer, I saw something that drove me crazy. One of the Yotsuba guys was sitting with Misa on the couch, giving her a feel while keeping her trapped under his arm, and Misa just sat there chatting and smiling adorably at him, enduring it. I didn't trust any of these men, but this one…he looked like a real heel, if I'd ever seen one. A pale, skinny one, with dark hair that stuck up like lousy shag carpet and a sleazy glint in his matching eyes. I could see his hand creeping down her arm like an albino tarantula, his fingertips ghosting along the side of her chest.

He made L look like an angel. I mean it.

"Awright! More sake, comin' right up!"

"Huh? Excuse me, I don't recall asking for—"

I took off, anyway. What a rude blockhead I was, but I couldn't help it. As soon as I reached the snack table to snatch up the bottle by the neck, I accidentally-on-purposely swung my elbow into the drink in the guy's hand. Klutz maneuver 6.

Splash! The splatter of foaming alcohol bleeding into the fabric of his shirt and tie came close as the most triumphant noise I'd heard all night, so far. Everyone who happened to be on the same couch at the time suddenly drew away like I'd spilled some acid on the guy. By the dirty look that guy fired me, I might as well have. What killed me was how he'd tried to disguise his chimp-like sneer as a friendly grin, like he was a real forgiving fella.

"Ohmygosh, I'm soooo sorry!" I squealed. "I'm such a klutz! Are you all right?" I was lying, in a way, but in another way, I wasn't. That look he had on scared hell out of me, enough to make me feel almost sorry I'd done it.

Misa only had enough time to pass me a funny look before reaching over the table for a handful of napkins. "Don't worry, Mr. Higuchi, Misa will clean you up!"

"Ah, well, thank you, Misa-Misa," chuckled Higuchi. He had an awful chuckle, the kind that could make your skin crawl. "It's all right. This was my best shirt and tie, but it's not like I can't buy a new best shirt and tie."

While Misa had that covered, I hurried around the couch with the bottle for Namikawa. When I reached his spot, though, he was gone. He's rotated way the hell to the other side of the room, by the balcony. I figured that he didn't want to talk to me anymore, but was too "polite" to tell me that. Understandable…I think. So, I didn't chase after him.

I peeked back towards the bathroom. Jesus Christ, Matsuda was sure taking his sweet time in there. Maybe he really was trying to flush himself down the toilet?

A hand gripped at my shoulder. Yelping, I turned around to find Misa frowning at me. "What was that?" she asked.

"Wh-what? What're you talking about? I'm just mingling, like you suggested."

"Misa saw you. You did that to Higuchi on purpose. What are you trying to do, blow Misa's chances of landing a deal with the Yotsuba Group?"

"Wh-wha-what am I tryin' to—? Our friend is in danger, and all you care about is tha—"

Misa wagged a finger under my nose. "It's called flirting. You know, distracting them? Like we're supposed to do?"

"F-flirting? Don't tell me you liked him feeling you up," I hissed. "That's not flirting. That's full-blown harassment."

"Well, Misa didn't like it, either. In fact, Misa thinks Higuchi's a big pervert, too, but he's also a client. It comes with the territory. Misa's been doing this for awhile; she can take care of herself. Now go sit down where you can't misbehave, anymore." She wouldn't even give me the liberty of seating myself; she forced me to sit next to the guy sitting across from Higuchi—Takahashi, I think his name was. Misa introduced him to me before thrusting me into the couch.

Oh, I'M misbehaving. Go figure: when I turn yellow, no one likes it. But when I actually act like I have stones, they STILL don't like it. I can't win. 

Boy, old Takahashi looked as happy as a clam, being sandwiched between two girls, even when one of them was listening intently to another Yotsuba man's discussion on their company. Rather than focus my attention on him, I kept my eyes trained on the bathroom door, wondering if Matsuda was okay. The more I thought about him, the more my guts writhed.

Takahashi picked an awful time to try to wrap an arm around my waist. I did try to make a conscious effort to make it seem flirtatious when I swatted him away, but with the mood I was in, it came out more as a downright slap than a playful swat. I couldn't flirt. Not like Misa. I have to like a guy, really like a guy, in order to flirt with him, and even then, I'm not a master at it. You need a kind of subtlety to flirt with people, something I didn't exactly have in spades. But at least that got him off me. He looked like he'd never been slapped by a girl before, like I'd bitten him or something.

Step off, buster, I wanted to say. Instead, I flashed him a pained smile and told him, "Sorry. Shoulders. We've just met, after all. Now if you're looking for a great girl, you really should talk to Misa-Misa. She'd be great for your business."

Jeez, I was killing myself, here. If I wasn't anxious before, my heart was hammering, now. The room had suddenly gotten too hot to bear, my outfit way too tight.

But before Takahashi could say a word—

BAM! 

The bathroom door slammed into the wall as it gave way to a man's raised sock-foot. Matsuda's sock-foot. The laid-back soiree-ish atmosphere of the apartment caved under the startled gasps and mutters of Yotsuba members and models alike. Everyone turned to see Matsuda staggering out of the doorway, giggling and grinning to himself like a drunken skunk. "Awww, I am so-o-o-o drunk," he slurred, fumbling his way past the rest of us, all of whom immobilized on the cocktail of surprise and apprehension.

He waved an uncoordinated arm to the crowd. "H-hi, ev'ryone," he snickered. "Ev'ryone havin' fun?" He killed me, sometimes. He really did. Or, he would've, had I not noticed that he was making his clumsy way towards the balcony. Then sliding the glass door open.

He stepped outside into the night, stretching his arms out as far as he could as though basking under an alcohol-induced hallucination of a spotlight. "Now ev'ryone, the moment you all been wading for…the Taro Matsui Show!" he chortled.

The instant he started hoisting himself on top of the balcony railing, time seemed to slow down, like my perception of everything around me—light, sounds, smells—had begun to swim. Misa dashed up to the front of the room, an encouraging fist pumped high into the air. "Yaaaay, you can do it! Go, Matsu!" she cheered.

What the hell, Misa? Don't ENCOURAGE him, I wanted to scream at her, but words had failed me. My mind had become as blank as a blackboard on summer break, like it refused to accept the reality of Matsuda teetering across the railing right in front of me, like a tightrope walker with a terrible case of vertigo.

Unless…

Was this his great escape?

One of the Yotsuba men, Shimura, rushed over to try to reason with him. "Hey, get down from there! You're drunk! That's way too dangerous!" Imagine that: these guys were probably thinking about cutting his throat on the drive over here, and now they were yelling at him to get the hell off the balcony, like they were concerned about his safety. That killed me.

"Don' worry, I'm jus' fine," Matsuda shook him off. "I do this all the time!"

I—and everyone—finally sprung to our feet once Matsuda somehow hoisted his legs way the hell up in the air, supporting his weight merely on the heels of his quivering hands. By now, the Yotsuba Group, all eight of them, had rushed up to the front to roar him back down to safer ground.

"I-it's awright," my buddy grunted. "N-no prob…" He didn't sound quite as drunk as he had before. More uncomfortable than drunk, and scared as all hell. His eyes stayed focused on the dark streets he hovered at least thirteen stories over.

Without even moving out of my spot, I reached out to him, like I could yank him back to safety by his ankle. Goddamn it, Matsuda, hold still! 

I missed.

Screaming. All I could hear was his helpless, bloody scream, as he disappeared into the other side of the ledge, limp to the unwanted help of gravity that carried him down. I couldn't even hear my own pulse howling in my ears.

The squishy clunk of flesh and bone against concrete, like a melon getting smashed, punctuated the echo.

…

You know how you might find yourself caught in the middle of a nightmare, or something that you wish were just a nightmare because it hurts too much to accept it as reality? Or when you tune out a horror movie when the action gets too intense?

I started to tune out upon faintly hearing a woman cry outside, "No! I heard a thud, so I came out! This is horrible! Someone call an ambulance!"

Long after everyone else had cleared out of the room, coats flying and shits scared clean, I stayed by the balcony, peering numbly over it to stare out into the dark but no longer vacant street, at the silhouette of a body once oozing with life within the newly-formed circle of horrified rubbernecks, as the wail of an ambulance—might as well have been a hearse—parted the crowd to pick it up. I couldn't bear to go down there with everyone else. In fact, I searched in vain for a sense of comfort from up there on the balcony; from up there, the scene remained far away, like a nightmare I kept waiting for to drift out of my consciousness. Or for me to wake up so I could kick it out myself.

You wouldn't believe what Misa's last words were to those guys when they started filing out. "Look, everyone, I think you should leave this for us to take care of and go home. Don't worry, we'll handle it. And don't forget about me for your next campaign, okay?"

"Let's go," said one of them, Mido. "If the press sees us, we're in trouble." Someone had just fallen to a concrete death—a friend, my friend—and what were they more concerned about? Their reputations, their job opportunities. God, how could they be so…so…selfish? 

Just hearing them say that sapped the strength out of my knees, and I collapsed into a pitiful, shivering, gasping heap onto the floor, forehead pressing against the balcony as the flood gates in my eyes tore open. I was in so much pain at that moment, I'd forgotten all about pride or shame. They'd fallen off the balcony along with Matsuda.

I could almost hear bugle taps ringing in my head. He deserved a hero's memorial, for all I cared.

This was why I didn't wear much make-up. Crying is a messy ordeal all on its own.

"Elin?" Misa asked softly, kneeling down to my level. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

Why am I—? 

Without even thinking about it, I lunged at her, my nails digging into her shoulders as I rattled her around in front of me. "Why am I crying? Matsu just fell thirteen goddamn stories to his goddamn death," I howled into her face between peals of sobs, "and you ask me why I'm goddamn crying?" I was scaring her, I could tell, and in a way, I felt so sorry for lashing out at her like that. Not quite enough to stop bawling, though. I couldn't remember ever using the word "goddamn" so much in one sentence before, either.

"He was so young…he was gonna do great things…he didn't make it…and all you care about is the goddamn fucking campaign! With the enemy, no less! HOW CAN YOU BE SO SELFISH!" Like a volcano, I erupted again.

"Hey-hey-hey, coming from the girl who wanted to camp out in the bathroom because she thought her tushy looked a little big? Misa's not selfish!" she shot back, gripping my shoulders in turn as she helped me to wobble my way back up on my feet. "And for the record, Matsu's not dead. He made it. Everything went as exactly as planned."

Looking to her left and right for a beat to make sure no one was listening nearby, she whispered, "He pretended to be wasted and fell so the others could catch him on the floor just below us."

At first, I didn't say a word. I couldn't. I wanted to believe her words, I really did. But…

"Then who the fuck was that out on the street?"

Misa shrugged. "I dunno. Aiber in disguise, probably. The lady crying for help was just Wedy. And stop swearing so much; it's uncouth and unprofessional. Look, if you don't believe Misa, why not come downstairs, see for yourself?"

…

The whole way Misa helped me down to the monitor room, all I could think about was how much I wanted to beat someone's ass. Naturally, no one's ass got beat.

That didn't keep me from having a lot to say, though. The minute I saw a shaken but breathing Matsuda sitting on the sofa, I torpedoed across the room into his chest: one arm squeezing him almost to the point of snapping his spine in half, the other beating on his shoulder in the form of a fist as I sobbed into the fabric of his not-so-starched shirt. I shouldn't have done that, unload more drama on the poor guy when he had just barely gotten away from Death with all the hairs on his head. But I wasn't thinking about that. In some respects, I wasn't that much better than Misa, huh?

"You're a brave, brave guy, Matsu," I hiccupped, pressing my cheek against the hollow of his shoulder, "but sohelpme, you dumb monkey, if you—if you go pull something like that on me again, I'll—I'll—"

I wanted to say, "I'll murderize you!" Except, considering the dire circumstances he had just escaped from, that would've made no sense whatsoever. I resolved to more crying, instead, almost every shred of coherent thought or word thrown by the wayside.

Matsuda's timid arms fumbled around, as he tried to give me a hug out of comfort, to get me to stop bawling. "Hey, it's okay, it's okay now," he stammered, half-stroking, half-patting my back.

Before I knew it, I ripped myself off of Matsuda to glare forks and knives at Light and L, pretty much everyone. "And you! If you jerks didn't push Matsu around all the goddamn time, he wouldn'ta done this in the first place! Have some appreciation for each other, for once in your lives!" Anger can make you do and say a lot of dumb things. But hey, if I didn't say it, who else would? Not Matsuda. For a screwball, he never made excuses for himself, no matter how justifiable. He would've gotten thrashed for it, anyway.

Matsuda coughed, placing a sheepish hand behind his head. "Aw now, don't say that. Going to check out Yotsuba on my own was completely my choice."

Naturally, I don't think they took too kindly to my blaming them for Matsuda's stupidity. "All right, that's enough," said Light. He and L were dressed up as paramedics, for some reason: part of the ruse, I guess. They must've been the ones taking Aiber into the ambulance. To see L in anything other than his usual white shirt and jeans was kind of disturbing, to say the least—a doll, he was by no means—but I was too far out of it to appreciate the freakishness of it.

"I think you should go to bed. You've had a rough night and you're not thinking clearly. We've all had a rough night." Like he was trying to shame me into shutting up by pointing out that no one else had lost their head. Only I had.

"I've never thought clearer in my whole life! Leggo of me, asshole!" I snapped when he tried to help me back up. Imagine that. I flat-out call Light an asshole. That only went to prove his point. I really wasn't thinking that clearly. My brains were practically draining out of my ears. I didn't put up much more of a fight than that.

In spite of myself, I couldn't help but notice how quiet L was, the whole time. I expected him to contribute some kind of snarky comment or something, but he didn't. He probably just had nothing else to say to me. As if he'd ever had much to say to me, in the first place.

I found it a miracle that I still had the energy to wash my face and change into my PJs, sighing with bitter relief as I managed to wiggle free from my costume. I folded the outfit up into a semi-decent pile and placed it on my vanity, deciding to return it to Misa the following day, when I'd gotten a few nerves back. As I flopped down on my bed, I clung on to a pillow, too tired to do much of anything else, but seething too much to even consider sleep.

Lying there like a freshly baked potato, eyes sore and head throbbing, I brooded on my feelings until I could see that they were too stupid to dwell on and let them go. I hated Matsuda for jumping the gun like he had and faking us out and making me worry to the point of tears. I hated the Yotsuba Group for all of their seediness, for ever thinking of touching a hair on his head. I hated Misa for her pushy selfishness. I hated L and Aiber and Light and just about everyone on the task force for treating Matsuda and me like they had. I hated Kira, whatever his issues were, for ever coming up with the terrific idea of killing people and putting everyone through all of this.

Of course, I hated myself, for being yellow and self-conscious and selfish and for hating everyone else and so on and so on. I couldn't exactly blame them for sending me to my room like a kid pitching a tantrum. If I'd had to handle myself like that, I might not have thought of anything better.

The rapping of knuckles against my door shook me from my hate-fest. I reached up over my head to flip on a lamp. "Who is it?"

"It's me, Matsu."

It took me a while of groaning and squirming, but eventually, I got around to opening the door. Matsuda stood outside, waving at me, but looking nonetheless flustered. "Hi, Elin. I'm sorry, were you sleeping?"

"No."

"Oh. O-okay. Listen, Elin…I'm—I'm really sorry about what happened tonight. Can you forgive me? Will you be all right?"

I worked up enough effort to put into a shrug. "I dunno. I'll have to wait 'til tomorrow to know for sure. Thanks for asking, though. You're pretty much the only one who's asked. Besides," I mustered a feeble chuckle, "it's kind of my fault for believing that the guys would leave you hanging like that."

But could you totally blame me? L had talked about ditching him in order to confirm the Yotsuba Group's guilt, however briefly, and maybe he didn't mean it. You couldn't tell when it came to L, though. Either way, I didn't tell Matsuda this. It wasn't necessary, plus he probably wouldn't have taken it well if I did.

"Just…try not to do anything like that again, awright? Don't stop trying, but don't throw yourself in front of the train, either. I mean, don't do it i-if you can help it, please." I should've been grateful just to have him alive so we could talk like this.

Matsuda tittered back, then jolted up as though remembering something. "Ah, that reminds me. I was supposed to give you this." He stretched out a hand to reveal a small plate of shortcake, with a fork and a handful of napkins.

I sure could've used a slice of comfort food at that moment. I know I'd been freaking out earlier about looking fat but in the end I like food too much to go on a diet, or at least stick to one. Besides I hadn't really gotten a chance to eat at the party. One piece of cake shouldn't hurt. Maybe a full stomach would help to simmer me down. I took it gratefully in one hand while the other reached up to rub out my eye. "Well how thoughtful of ya! Thanks, Matsui, you're a regular peach. Don't you ever change that," I sniffed.

"You're welcome. But, that cake's not really mine. I was asked to give that to you. But I hope it'll help you feel better."

"You don't say. Well give 'em my regards when you go back down, will ya?"

"Yeah. Hey, before I, you know, jumped off the balcony...did you see anything weird about any of those guys from Yotsuba?"

"I noticed that they're all tools in one way or another. But I don't think that's surprising at all. I'll just take your word for it that they're up to no good."

"Oh. Okay, then."

"G'night, Matsu." Before I shut the door I balked.

"Oh wait. If I'm allowed to ask, who sent you up here with the cake?" I asked. "Just wondering."

"Uh…Ryuzaki, actually. Good-night, Elin," he answered with a bow. "Thank you for, uh, everything."


	15. Ramble

Sometimes, while the rest of them worked on the Kira case (and when I wasn't busy trying to persuade Wedy to cut down on her smoking for all that was good and holy), I found myself tangled up in a case of my own: what exactly was L's issue? Seriously! Was he bipolar or what? One minute, he'd call me a nuisance in front of everybody; the next minute, he'd offer me cake, or at least send Matsuda up to make the offering for him. I didn't know if he did that to everyone, but to be honest, it kind of drove me nuts. Just when I thought I had him figured out, he kept yanking the rug out from under my feet, from both sides. As if to prove somehow that I would never be able to figure him out.

My observations, so far? Well, he didn't tend to be nice when the others were around and conscious. Only in private. My hunch that he might've been doing that on purpose grew stronger. My hunch on why? Not so much. Maybe he didn't want people to know that he may have actually had a heart…or something that qualified? Maybe he didn't know how to be nice with an audience? Or maybe he just liked messing with me?

Whatever his problem was, I hadn't gotten the chance to ask him about it. With the sweet new lead Matsuda gave us from his eavesdropping escapade, the team spent more and more time monitoring the suspects. I didn't figure he'd have been straight with me, even if I had gotten to ask. He never was too damn straight with his answers.

I would give him credit, though, in spite of that. L didn't stop asking Matsuda to get him his coffee after that, but he did save his life. He may not have been a total waste of humanity, after all.

At any rate, a week had passed since the whole Matsuda episode. As planned, Aiber took over the role of "Eraldo Coil" in order to gain their trust, with the sweet bonus of milking the opportunity to bleed their wallets dry. I'm talking millions. A heist of the highest degree, and he barely had to lift a finger except to make a couple of phony calls. Man, that could've been a front-pager all by itself! Guy could sell air conditioners to penguins, if he felt like it.

"Showing yourself to them is dangerous, Aiber. Do be careful," said L.

"I get that. But you've saved my hide on a number of occasions; I don't see why you wouldn't be able to do it again. And with what you've got on me, I'd be looking at life behind bars. Compared to this, it's no contest on which I'd prefer. Maybe I could quit this gig any time, but I can't stay away from the thrill of it." I could almost hear the sly wink in his words as he said this, despite the voice scrambler. "Anyhow, I've managed to shake five million's worth off them, to 'keep quiet,' but if it's okay with you, I'm thinking of handing them over an L imposter to get the rest of the loot. We're talking ten million, here." 

Huh. So that's how L got folks on his side?

"Your idea will be considered."

I coughed, "B-but we might pinpoint who Kira is first, so you won't have to do that. Hopefully."

Aiber chuckled, good-naturedly for him.

Wedy, in the meantime, used her super-ninja-thief-hacking skills to help Watari bug the office where the Yotsuba men held their shady meetings—she even made a point to bitch about how unworthy the mission had been for someone of her talents when she called to check in, since the security had been so uncharacteristically lame, by her standards, at least.

"Ryuzaki, are you listening? I am so disappointed! I thought that this would be a challenge. Security level here is a joke. They've left it all to a single contractor. There weren't even any wire-tap detectors! And don't even get me started about the gorillas they've got for security guards." 

She had kind of a big head about that, like Aiber with his thing. But like him, at least she had the walk as well as the talk.

I have to admit, I did feel kind of sorry for those jerks when I heard about all this. It's no fun to get conned, no matter who you are, especially like that. Shit, watching us break into their place with cameras, getting as handsy as possible with their privacy, watching them get robbed blind, felt...strange. I'm sure it was no picnic for the task force, either. They weren't used to breaking the law they were trusted to enforce this hard, in so many places.

At least, until I remembered why we were bothering Yotsuba, to begin with. And after what had happened with Matsuda...I couldn't find it in me to dwell on my pity for them. Did they deserve this? I couldn't say. Part of me would like to say yes, but what about all the people Aiber and Wedy had screwed over in the past? Had any of them deserved it?

If we didn't have a choice on the matter, that was one thing. But, did we have to do all of this and make it sound enjoyable, on top of it? No need to be jerks about it...

Anyway, from then on, the task force could see and hear everything going on there. And I mean everything. Including the disturbing parts, which made up just about every minute of their discussions.

The worst part? Last time I'd seen those bastards up close and personal, there were eight. But when the Yotsuba Council of Doom gathered around their table of evil the following week, dressed from head to toe in black like mafia enforcers making a shady backroom dealing, only seven were there. One seat remained empty, freezing from the lack of a warm butt.

Huh. Maybe the one took a vacation? Maybe he got sick? Maybe he'd gone to use the john? Or—

"They've probably killed one of their members," I heard L say. He was always thinking about the worst. I would've criticized that further, if it weren't for the fact that the worst case scenario seemed to always apply here.

I, meanwhile, was sitting way in the corner by Matsuda. I knew that those meetings didn't concern me at all, but since the night of the party, I'd found it kind of hard to stay away from him for too long without getting antsy. I'd almost lost him; never again did I want to take his company for granted. Plus, he was supposed to be "dead" and everything—the team had even had a fake obituary posted in the paper to throw the Group off—which meant more quality time with him, again. I mean, when he wasn't supposed to be doing detective stuff.

Unfortunately, this was probably detective stuff. My presence was not welcome. I guessed that the only reason no one said anything right away was because they were too tuned in to every word the Group said.

"In order to further the growth of the Yotsuba Group and best serve its financial interests," said Yotsuba member Ooi with his chin perched on his knuckles, his shades gleaming like a predator's eyes, "who should we kill next?" 

The whole lot of us—save for L—gasped. Matsuda jabbed a finger at the monitor. "You see? It's just like I told you last week!"

"Yeah, way to go, Matsu!" I cheered with the fist cocked in the air, mostly to cover up my urge to throw up. Although I was proud of old Matsuda, I really was. The cold, calculating words of the Yotsuba Group were what nauseated me to the extreme, even though I'd been feeling kind of funny all day. What I saw unfolding in front of me on the screen…I wished that that was all it was. Just an ultra-crappy movie with ultra-crappy villains. No one could really be that evil, could they? Evil enough to kill in cold blood for cold cash? I damn near felt like throwing my shoe at the screen, even! No joke.

Instead, I punctuated my cheer with a raspy cough.

"Elin, what're you doing here?" asked Light.

"What? All I said was, 'Yeah, way to go, Matsu!' I'm not doing anything."

L had his daily third dessert set out in front of him, anmitsu, this weird Japanese jelly and fruit cocktail-thing, with extra syrup. "Miss Crocker, you'd best go up to your room and let us conduct business in peace." Like I was some little kid cutting in on the grown-ups. "And I wouldn't recommend trying to linger, this time. Whether or not you are aware of it, you are a terrible spy."

I think I got this close to working up the nerve to shove his swivel chair way the hell down the way. But not quite. In fact, I didn't even try to come up with at least a half-snappy comeback. Not that I didn't want to, but for some reason, I just didn't bite. I'd been going around all day feeling kind of listless, honestly. My throat felt a little scratchy, too, as though rubbed dry with sandpaper. Plus, if I'd heard any more from those Yotsuba bastards, I might've tossed my cookies all over the floor.

So, I hauled myself onto my feet to pass an anxious glance towards Matsuda. He snuck an assuring smile back my way, silently promising to visit as soon as he could. Since I couldn't have it any other way, I somehow gathered the strength to give him a playful punch on the arm, only to draw back to cover my mouth when another cough burst out of my throat. I'd been coughing all day, it seemed.

I didn't go up to my room, though. I only went as far as Misa's floor. I wanted to see what she was up to. Anything to take the echo of the Yotsuba Group's morbid words out of my head, if only for awhile.

"To be honest, in a certain sense, I'm relieved that Hatori is dead. Kira has demonstrated that we must be committed to these meetings. We now know what will happen if we try to leave." That sounded like Namikawa. Hatori must've been their fallen member of the pack.

Jesus F. Christ: like listening to cannibals suck their fingers clean after cleaning up a fresh human sacrifice, all the while already drumming up the grocery list for their next grisly banquet. I had to plug my fingers deep into my ears just to try to block them out, choking back the urge to either hack up a lung, or bawl until my eyes dangled from their sockets. Or both.

With a stomach as tender as mine, I suddenly didn't have very high hopes on my career flying very far. Once this was all over, of course. How the hell could L, Light, and everyone on the task force stand to swallow things like that on a regular basis?

After the trek up to Misa's floor, I knocked on the door.

"Light! Is that you?" I heard her squeal. Every time someone knocked on her door, she almost always assumed they were Light, even when it wasn't, most of the time. In a way, that made me feel kind of sad. I knew Light was busy, with L chained to him and all, but I'd think that in spite of that, the guy would at least try to make an effort to spend a little more time with his girl. It seemed like every time those two were together, and not for business, Misa initiated the time. I never saw him approach her first to do boyfriend-girlfriend stuff. Their interactions never lasted too long, either.

I didn't know whether to really let that bother me, though. Misa never complained. In fact, everything that popped out of her mouth regarding Light was strict sugar.

"No, sorry, it's me, Elin. Can I come in?"

"Oh." She sounded a bit disappointed, but invited me in, anyway. I found her cross-legged on the couch with a magazine on her lap, an orange drink sitting on the coffee table.

"What can I do you for, Elin?"

"Seventy-five bucks sounds fair."

Misa looked at me for a pretty long time, blinking in confusion. I wasn't sure which threw her off: the part about seventy-five bucks or mentioning bucks in general.

"Horsing," I told her. "Just horsing around." I forced up a laugh in order to prove it, only to shudder with yet another brief, raspy coughing spell. "Seriously, though, you don't mind if I just sit here, awhile, do you? I'll go if you do."

Misa waved a cheerfully dismissive hand. "No, no, make yourself comfortable! Misa's casa is your casa!" she giggled. Taking her advice, I flopped down on my back on the couch parallel to her, resting my head on the palms of my hands as I fitted the hollow of one leg onto the kneecap of the other. For a while, I stared up at the ceiling, breaking my concentration to cover my mouth to cough. When that started getting boring, I glanced over to the magazine sprawled out on her lap, squinting at the small, black text.

"Say, what'cha reading?" I asked. Anything for small, friendly chit-chat. Sometimes I felt like deep conversation, sometimes I liked chit-chat. I just needed to forget about the Yotsuba men, for a while.

"Only the latest issue of 'Eighteen' magazine! They asked Misa for an exclusive interview, and this month, they've published it! Misa's jumping for joy! Except," she said with a frown as she flipped the book in every direction, "they seem to have made a few typos…not everything Misa said is published."

"It's a magazine. They always make typos," I croaked. "You can give them a freakin' masterpiece that you opened a vein to write, and they'll find a way to foul it up, somehow. It can be a spelling thing, or they take words out, or they add words, or sometimes, when you get your hands on it, you won't even recognize it at all until you see your name on the top. They just butcher it beyond reason, until you're not even sure if it's yours, anymore. That's why I'm a freelancer." That, and I've never written anything good enough to give to them to screw up. I didn't say that aloud to Misa, of course.

All Misa could say to that was, "Uh…yeah." I didn't blame her. She'd have to be a fellow writer to catch my drift. "Hey, not that Misa doesn't enjoy your company, but shouldn't you be with Matsu?"

"He's working. They kicked me out; I couldn't stay," I said with a snort. My nose felt so plugged up and everything, like I had cotton stuck up my nostrils.

I dared not tell her about what I'd heard her potential clients talk about, too worried about how she'd take it. Although I had to admit, for some reason, being wrapped up in the murder case of the century—as a suspect, no less—didn't seem to have any impact on her bubbly disposition. Or at least, she never let on that it bothered her. Maybe that was a skill she'd acquired with her job as a celebrity? Maybe she just ignored it?

Huh. Maybe I could get into that, ignoring, I mean? Only God knew how many crises I could've prevented in the past, had I only known how to keep to myself.

"Why d'ya ask?"

"You've been spending a lot of time with Matsu ever since he 'died,' and all."

"What's wrong with that? He's my friend. I'm at liberty to spend as much time as I can with my friends, aren't I?"

Misa rolled her eyes, not so much in sarcasm as in thoughtfulness. "You're right…just wondering, was it Ryuzaki that told you to leave?"

"Yeah. Why do you—oh. Oh! Oh no, Misa, not this, again!" It took me until right then to figure where she was driving at. Now I was sitting way the hell up on the couch. "Will you drop it, already?" I couldn't believe she still wouldn't get off that. Misa practically hated the guy's guts, for Christ's sake.

"I can't! You have just given Misa a valuable clue about Ryuzaki's feelings for you. He obviously sent you out because he's super-duper jealous of all the time you spend with Matsu," she said matter-of-factly, though not without a wink and a sly smile.

I folded my arms like a shield. Jealous? As if. He never came across to me as the type that got jealous. Stubborn and childish, yeah, but jealous? No way. He seemed too self-absorbed and complacent to be the jealous type, especially over what, exactly? "Or he could've just not wanted me around. God knows he's made that point clear on several occasions."

Misa simply snapped her fingers. "A-ha! You distract him! He shooed you off because you distract him! Either way, it proves Misa's point."

By that point, I was stretching across the gap between the table and the couch, my fingers digging into the cushions to hold me steady. "No, it doesn't prove anything," I growled, my voice growing hoarser, the more I tried to raise it. "Why do you always gotta look at things one way? Ryuzaki's too messed up to suffer the injustice of being looked at only one way." I meant that, too. "Especially in that—"

I didn't get to finish. I collapsed back onto the couch with my hands clapped over my mouth, another coughing spell coming on, this one longer and more violent, shredding my throat raw. I felt like I was coughing up a hairball or something, for a minute there. While I didn't hack up a hairball, I did hack up something. Something lukewarm and slimy.

Suddenly losing the nerve to look Misa in the eye, I peered down at my open palms. A small, green blob of mucus or something along those lines sat in between them, encased in spit. Definitely not the most attractive thing to have ever spat out of my mouth, especially in front of company. Especially still in front of a classy model like Misa.

There was another theory: L's germophobic self didn't want me launching mucus everywhere. Not that anyone on the team could afford to get sick, in the first place.

I quick shut my hands and fired Misa a sheepish grin, wincing at how disgusting the thing felt. Boy, was I burning up, all of a sudden, sizzling to the touch! It didn't exactly help to see her draw back into the couch, not even making the effort to hide the disgust from her face. "Ewwww! You're not sick, are you? You have been coughing a lot, lately."

"I-it's nothing! It really isn't. C-can I use the bathroom? I gotta use the bathroom." It figured. No one ever went to a foreign country without catching some kind of exotic disease. I wondered which one I'd caught?

"Of course! Misa's got soap and sanitized wipes in there. Let Misa get the door; I don't want your icky, germy hands touching any doorknobs around here!"

I cringed. "Thanks. You really know how to help a girl feel better." In a way, though, I could understand her paranoia. Being a super-busy model, she couldn't afford to catch whatever crap I'd caught, not with that all-important interview with the Yotsuba Group coming up. Thinking about that, however, made me remember what I'd heard them say, and to be honest, I started vaguely wishing that Misa would get sick: nothing too serious, just something so she wouldn't have to go see those bastards.

While I camped out in the bathroom, filling up the wastebasket with those sanitary wipes and absentmindedly looking for cough medicine, I heard someone else step into the room: L. I wasn't looking or anything, but I knew it was him. For one, he hadn't knocked. He never knocked; he always invited himself wherever. Misa's response clued me in on his presence, too: how she trilled, "Light! Misa didn't know we were supposed to have a date!" Then how all the glee seemed to have left her when she added, "Oh, right, I should've known."

The trouble with me was, if something piqued my interest, no matter how good or bad for me or whatever, I couldn't ignore it, not the way Misa could. Taking care not to touch the knob or anything, I dared to peer out through the crack in the door as I saw L dash his way across the room towards Misa, a bewildered Light trailing right behind him.

Planting one bare foot on the arm of the couch, he leaned in extra-close to Misa's face, like he always did, until he was hunched over her like a gargoyle. Comfort bubbles didn't exist for the guy. "Misa Amane," he said, "tell me: do you love Light from the bottom of your heart?"

Misa flinched from her seat on the couch, likely from the threadbare gap between her nose and L's. "Huh?" She tried to broaden the distance between their faces to something more comfortable. "Y-yeah! Of course I do!"

"But you also worship Kira, don't you?"

"Well, yeah—ah!" She wound up scurrying backwards way back into the other side of the couch as L nestled himself to the one entire side.

"So then, if you had to choose between Light and Kira, who would you pick?" he asked in genuine curiosity, like he and Misa had been BFFs since day one and were engrossed in some healthy teenage gossip. Oh, that killed me. I could see Light yanking the chain binding them, in the meantime, like he were trying to get old L to heel, already, even if that meant dislocating L's arm: probably the closest I had ever seen him go to act as a boyfriend. I didn't think L paid any mind, though.

So Misa took some initiative to scramble off the couch and run all the way around it until she hid herself behind Light, peering out like a kid behind a tree in a game of hide-n'-seek. "What? That's obvious! Of course, it's gonna be Light! Misa's really grateful to Kira and would like to meet him someday in person, but that's not true love!" Exactly what she'd told me once.

She took a minute to cling on to Light's arm in that koala way of hers, gazing up at Light's face with googly eyes. She always had time to be affectionate towards the guy, even when most of the time, he didn't really look in the mood for it. "I'd definitely choose Light," she cooed. Light didn't look too flattered by her words. More flustered than flattered.

L turned his head to stare back at the lovebirds behind him. "But your precious Light is planning to catch Kira. Isn't that right?"

"Well, yes," said Light, suspicious of where the hell L was driving at with this. I know I was. "Of course, I am."

I inched a little closer into the crack to see where things were about to go. L was cooking up another crazy scheme; I could smell it sizzling in the pan already. At the same time, L stretched his neck out over the sofa and almost poked Misa in the side with his nose. As she yelped and withdrew further into Light's side, he said, "He wants to catch Kira. Now what will you do?"

Upon his asking, Misa quickly regained a determined stance, her arms still locked around Light's. "Well, if that's what Light wants, then Misa will support him no matter what!" Maybe Kira wasn't that special, after all? Not if he didn't have enough influence on young girls to keep them from thinking about their boyfriends. Whatever. You had to admire her dedication, at any rate.

Unblinking, L pressed the issue even further into sketchy territory: "I see. So, if you were given the opportunity to work with Light on this investigation, would you take the offer?"

Light's eyes widened. "What? Ryuzaki—"

Boy, Misa just about lit up like a Christmas tree on the Square. "Yeah! Of course, I would! I would do anything to help out Light!"

Light quickly steamrolled over her: "Wait, hold on a second! Where are you going with this?" he demanded. Yeah, L, where were you going?

On that cue, did the scheme flow forth: "I'm planning to have Aiber pose as Eraldo Coil, again. He'll tell the Yotsuba members that while he was investigating L, he discovered that Misa Amane might know who he is. He'll also tell them that L brought her in for questioning on suspicions that she was the Second Kira."

I could see Misa give off a slight shiver at the memory. "That part is true." Considering what he'd put her through, I was still astounded how the ordeal hadn't seemed to have left any major scarring.

Maybe seeing the things that she had would make a person more thick-skinned?

L rose up to hop off the couch and walk way the hell across the room, or at least as far as the cuffs would allow, staring out into space the entire time. Whenever he revealed a brilliant plan, he never looked directly at you, like you weren't worth the effort. "If the Yotsuba Group believes that Misa could be their lead to finding L, then they'll say that they want to meet her to discuss their advertising campaign. They'll use that opportunity to question her. Thanks to Matsuda's screw-up, they may already be considering her as their spokesperson, so this could work. With your acting skills, it shouldn't take much effort to win them over..."

My hand formed a tight fist against the doorway. Screw-up? He'd just said that it'd helped to give him groundwork for his crazy-ass plan, so I would say that old Matsuda's "screw-up" had probably been, in the long run, the best thing he had done for the task force! Huh. It only went to show just how much L appreciated the rest of us.

Misa was entranced by his every word. "Yeah, right!" she nodded.

Light? Not so much. "We can't do that."

"Why no-o-ot?" Misa whined. "You wanna catch Kira, don't you?"

"This plan is too risky. Who knows what could happen to you?"

Well, that had Misa gasping with pleasant surprise, clapping her hands out in front of her. "Oh wow! Does that mean you're worried about Misa? Yaaaay!" She pounced on her guy to sling her arms around his neck and snuggle him. Poor girl. I felt so sorry for her, all of a sudden. She would practically kill to have Light demonstrate concern or affection for her, it seemed.

"But don't worry! I won't mind doing something like this if it's for you, Light." Like this whole crackpot scheme had hatched from his head instead of L's.

Light placed his hands on her shoulder, both to keep her attention and to keep her at a more comfortable distance away. "Listen, Misa. If they suspect that you know who L really is, we don't know how far they'd be willing to go to get that information."

Misa flexed her arms like a strongman. "No problem!" she declared, nonetheless determined. "Misa won't say anything, even if they use torture!"

"I can attest to that," said L, shuffling back to their side of the room. That made me want to hack up a lung, for some reason. I could feel my throat itching to let loose another one, but I kept my lips pursed.

Light turned to glare at him. "But Kira can control his victims' actions before their deaths. There's a good chance that he might manipulate her into revealing what she knows and then kill her."

"That's all right," said L. What was all right, the part about Misa dying?

To everyone's puzzlement, the jerk reached into his pocket to fish out a folded, wrinkly sheet of paper, holding it up over his head for everyone relevant to behold. "Here is a fax that I had Wedy send over after she disabled the cameras in the conference room. After every meeting, they deposit all their papers pertaining to their discussions into the shredder before leaving. I had them removed and recovered."

Really? Wow, that sure must've taken a lot of Scotch tape.

"Out of those, the most interesting one was the document in regards to their 'experiments.' According to this, they've discovered that they cannot kill with only knowing someone's face. They must also know their real name; aliases will not work. Also, in manipulating their victims, they can't have them harm someone else in any way. If they tried that, the victim will merely die of a heart attack instead."

I personally was a little hung up on the fact that they'd call their killings "experiments."

"In other words, it wouldn't be possible for them to manipulate Misa into revealing L's identity before killing her, since L is only an alias."

Oh, so they wouldn't be able to do it just because Misa didn't actually know who L was? Holy cow, this jerk thinks about everything, doesn't he? 

It didn't take very long for Light to object again, though. "That doesn't guarantee anything, Ryuzaki. In any case if he does manage to kill L, he won't have any use for Misa; he'd kill her to keep her silent!" Sheesh, L really had no problem endangering people's lives for the sake of a case, did he?

Now that right there shook the girl in question up. She stared doe-eyed at her boyfriend with her hands to her lips. "Ohhh, I don't like the sound of that…"

Naturally, L had something to say to that, too. He held up an admonishing finger to Light's face and started to wag it, like a little kid arguing with his friend on a technicality during Chutes and Ladders™. "Light, you forget that if we win against Kira, Misa won't die. Besides…"

The chain binding them clinked softly as he held up his wrist for the two of them to see.

"…as long as we're handcuffed together, you and I share the same fate. If I die, so will you. If that happens, Misa is the one who would grieve most of all." The horrified look on her face when he said that more than testified for his foresight.

My sentiments exactly, to be honest. I wanted this case to end, but no longer just because I wanted to go home. I wasn't sure if I could bear to have any more people die on me, criminal or officer, genius or model. I'd already almost lost Matsuda, for Christ's sake. And for what? Because some bastard had decided he wanted to take over the world, a faceless dictator masquerading as a force of justice?

Hearing L and Light jump on the morbid wagon: that choked me up. Literally.

"Either we both lose and die together, or we successfully catch Kira." L turned to Misa and held out a hand as though handing her an offer she could never refuse. "Which is it?"

It didn't take too long for Misa to answer: "We catch Kira! I would never dream of living in a world without Light!"

"Yes, that would be dark." Even when he was supposed to be morbid, he would find a way to mess up the mood, somehow.

"Cut it out!" snapped Light. "This is just crazy!" My thoughts, exactly.

"We're running out of time, and I'm starting to get desperate." As L started to shuffle away again in a random direction, I could hardly believe what he said next: "As for Misa Amane, I've turned to her because I know that her bravery and love for you is boundless."

I mean it: I had to twirl a finger in my ear just to make sure I'd heard that right. No way! Did he just throw her a compliment? A bona fide compliment? 

I was nobody's poet but I had to say, that actually sounded…kind of sweet. And I thought Aiber was the sweet-talker around these parts.

Whoa. Didn't think he had it in him. Naturally, Misa ate that right up. She was touched. Her eyes shimmered as her face flushed pink with emotion. "Do you mean that?" she asked softly. "Oh no, Misa might've misunderstood you, all this time! I even called you a pervert! But you actually do understand how I feel, don't you?"

I couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu, what with watching the three of them interact the way they did from the discretion of the bathroom. Except this time they weren't trying to maul each other: a nice twist, needless to say.

L kept his gaze glued to the window, but he continued to pour the sugar: "Yes. Misa is indisputably the most perfect and worthy woman for Light." For a gadfly, he sure knew how to butter up a girl, didn't he? Then again, Misa wasn't really all that hard to butter up.

...

Actually when I look back on that with what I know now I wonder: was that really a compliment, or was that meant to be another cleverly disguised insult?

"Yaaaaay!" she gushed. Then she did something I would've never expected her to do: she hopped all the way over to L to peck his pasty cheek. "You're such a sweetie! Thank you, Ryuzaki!"

You should've seen the look on his face, the way he touched his cheek when she pulled away, his mouth hanging agape in pure puzzlement. He looked like a little boy who'd just gotten his first kiss from a girl who wasn't his mother.

Who knew? For all I did, that may very well had been his first kiss. Which was kind of sad, when I got to thinking about it later.

And in the typical fashion of a kiss-virgin—or a virgin in general—L gave her this funny, spaced-out look with his hand still pressing his cheek, and told her, "I could actually fall for you."

"World's Greatest Detective Falls For Misa-Misa!" That killed me. For someone who was supposed to be the world's greatest super-sleuth, he could spit out the nuttiest things when he felt like it. I didn't know if he really meant that or not, like either he'd said that to ensure she'd be on his side, or it was the heat of the moment (which I could totally sympathize with had that been the case, and it was almost impossible not to like Misa to begin with). Either way it made me choke, in more ways than one. I had to press a wipe up to my mouth to quell it.

Misa scampered right back to Light and resumed clinging to his arm. "Uh, let's not go that far." She looked up at Light for a thoughtful moment or two, then came back with a smile. "But maybe you can be a friend of mine? Would that be okay?"

"Yes." He glanced up at the ceiling with a finger up to his lips, as though seriously contemplating the idea of friendship. Like the idea was a novel or something. "So now I've gained yet another friend," he muttered. That made feel sorry for him in a way. When he wasn't obscuring it with his arrogance and general punkassery he really was a pitiful character the more I looked at him, and I don't just mean that to be nasty either.

"Of course! Every friend of Light's is a friend of Misa's, as well!" Misa giggled, reaching out with her one hand to take L's while holding to Light's with her other. "Let's all be friends together!" Before long, the three of them were dancing around in an awkward circle while the room sparkled and rainbows poured out through the air vent. No joke. Oh, Misa: she killed me, too, sometimes. But, at least they weren't trying to bash each other's brains all over the wall.

At least, for once, they were buddies. Even if for only a moment.

Though you couldn't say that Light and L were feeling as fuzzy as she was. "Yay, fun," L deadpanned.

When Misa finally broke the circle, she twirled around on her toes to strike a victory pose. "And of course, Misa would never ever think of betraying friends. With our powers combined, Kira is toast!" For some reason, I'd been expecting her to say, "We are Captain Planet™!"

"Unfortunately," said L, "Light is taking a different investigative approach from us and will be working with his father and the others. I'm afraid it'll just be you and I."

Misa turned back to Light, confused. "Huh? What's up with that?" Yeah, what happened? Had the team had a falling-out on what to do about the Yotsuba Group? Maybe it had been inevitable. Since it was obvious that those guys had something to do with Kira, shouldn't that have given them the warrant to arrest them? We'd gotten their conspiring on tape, after all. Of course, L didn't want that. What he intended to get out of them in this crazy scheme of his, I wasn't sure. I hadn't been thinking too straight, as of late.

Light scowled. "Come on, Ryuzaki, now you're just playing dirty." What, you didn't think he would, Light? "You're leaving me with no choice but to join your—"

"No, it's quite all right."

"What're you talking about? Of course, he'll be joining us!"

"That's not it, either!" Light insisted. "I've been opposed to this investigation since the beginning. It's too dangerous for her!" Light wasn't a bad guy, really. A little lacking as a boyfriend, but a good guy in general.

Misa cocked her head to pass Light a fond look. "Oh, Light, you're so sweet. Thank you for worrying about Misa. But please, let me do this. I want to be useful to you somehow." She bowed her head. "If I can be useful, then maybe you'll love me even more," she cooed. "And besides, Misa would gladly die if it were for you, Light."

That's about the point when I started hacking, immediately cutting the love-fest short. The odor from the wipes must've irritated the hell out of my throat, and this time, I couldn't hold it.

"Who's that in the bathroom?" I heard Light ask.

"Oh! In all the excitement Misa totally forgot! Elin, are you done in there?" What a thing to ask. I'd always been done, but the three of them had kept me plugged up in the bathroom between their dreaming and their scheming.

I eased the door open with my foot, so Misa wouldn't throw a hissy about "getting my icky, germy hands on the doorknob." "Hey, don't mind me," I croaked. "I was on my way outta here. I didn't hear nothing, I don't know nothing. Just call me stupid." I figured that if I was going to look dumb, I would at least beat L to the chase.

That didn't stop him, though. Dragging Light behind him—and Misa, too, only because she'd insisted on hitching a hike on his arm—he told me, "Elin, I distinctly remember telling you to go to your room."

I cleared my throat so I wouldn't have to look him too much in the eye. "Yeah, and I 'distinctly remember' you saying that. But I sort of figured that that was just a friendly recommendation. I got out of your hair, didn't I?" I snorted.

For a minute too long, the two of us stood there facing each other: L looking me over like a lab specimen, I just plain fixed in my place. I never quite knew how to act with him.

Then just when I thought he couldn't get any wackier he reached out an open hand. To reach around past my shoulder under my hair and press his cold palm against the back of my neck. I must've jumped seven feet out of my skin.

"Hey!" Out of pure reflex, I ducked out from under him. "What're you trying to pull here?" I demanded, my voice shaking like hell. I could see Misa smirking from behind. I tilted over to shoot her a quick, dirty look. "You can't just go around touching people's necks all willy-nilly."

Even though he wasn't touching my neck anymore he kept his hand frozen in mid-air, his expression as empty as it had ever been. Gradually he lowered the hand to slip back into his pocket.

"You're hot," he mumbled.

"Ohhhh, I knew it! Misa called it!"

"Called what?" asked Light.

"I don't care a bit about Miss Crocker's looks," said L before Misa could clarify, thank goodness. "I'm referring to her temperature. She's running a fever."

I wasn't sure whether to be offended by that.

"Oh yeah. That, too. That's exactly what Misa's been telling her, almost! Elin's sick. She's been coughing all day."

I clapped my hand on the back of my neck where L had touched me. "Sh-shut up, I'm not sick! I just…uh…it's the ventilation in this place. Yeah, that's it. Wedy won't quit lighting up indoors, so now the whole place smells like lousy tobacco. You should talk to her about that. A-and the reason I'm feverish is because I've…I've got a feverish personality. I'm an—I'm an Aries. You know, the Ram? Baaa?"

Naturally, L couldn't let that slide. "The premises to your argument are weak and hold no relevance to the issue at hand. You've always been rather poor at arguments. This time however, it seems you are already experiencing delirium induced by your fever."

"I have to agree with Ryuzaki," said Light. "You really shouldn't be walking around if you have an infection, especially if it's contagious." Oh, now he agreed with him?

One hand waved out a feeble imaginary force-field, while the other massaged my temple. "I'm. Not. Sick. Okay? Look, we don't have to make a big deal outta this, do we?" I just didn't want to get put into quarantine or something, is all, which I was pretty sure would happen next, knowing L (the word "knowing" used loosely, mind you). All I was doing was pissing in the wind by denying it. My head hurt so bad—either from the fever or everything I'd just heard, I didn't know—I couldn't even think of anything better to say.

Once he started peering off in a random direction, I knew I was screwed. "I hereby make it mandatory that you go to your room effective immediately. I will send up Watari to take care of you."


	16. Bed

"What's the prognosis, doc? Give it to me straight: how much longer you reckon I have left to live? I gotta know so I can drum up my will." I was only horsing around when I asked, but in a way, I wasn't. The way I felt lying in bed and all, I almost did feel like I could die at any moment. "Are you also a lawyer?"

Watari had his old-man jowls packed behind a plastic mask, but the way the wrinkles on his face creased, I could tell he was smiling back at me as he reorganized his bag. Turned out that the old man had some talent in the doctoring department. He had talent in a lot of areas, it seemed; a lot more versatility than most younger guys I knew. "You're going to be fine, Miss Crocker. It seems it's only influenza. Or a cold, failing that."

"Influenza? Isn't that serious?" I hacked, reaching over to rip a tissue out of the box sitting by my lamp. "Don't people like, die from that?" I could be such a ditz sometimes.

"Influenza is the formal name for the flu, and only when complications arise. You are not an individual who is likely to develop anything like that. You should make a complete recovery in a week or two with adequate rest."

Suddenly lacking the energy to look him in the eye, I shut my eyes, letting the used tissue roll out of my hand and onto the floor. "Probably got it from one of those Yotsuba guys. Those dudes are sick, in every sense of the word. They all have gutter sludge in their souls. Lemme guess what you mean by rest: stay in bed and drink all day?"

"Correct. You should also take warm showers whenever you can." Peeling off his gloves and mask, he wadded them up and dropped them in the trash on his way to the bathroom to wash his hands.

"What if I want to go out?"

"I would not advise going out at present. If you need anything at all at any time, you may contact me through the computer. In the meantime, we will continue to check on you periodically."

Good thing I kept my eyes shut, so he wouldn't see me rolling them. Sure. Stick a thermometer up my butt, while you're at it, why don't you? I had nothing against Watari, truthfully, but between crashing with the flu and L's putting me into quarantine, I was in no mood to be Little Miss Goodpatient. At least, in secret, if I could help it. I could be a real snot, when I felt up to it.

Ooh, speaking of snot—

"Ack-ack-aaack!" 

I beat on my chest, sputtering like a car motor, hoping to shake up the mucus family renunion swimming around in my lungs, climbing up my windpipe. Just concentrating on it made me think about those corny Mucinex™ commercials from back home: all those little mucus-people dancing in a conga-line as I lay there like an irritated landlady, banging on the floor to get them to shut up. I'd already kicked out Uncle Phil. Now for the rest of them…

…

That had been about a day or two ago. If I was lucky enough to catch even a wink of sleep, I'd been too busy battling the temperature—external or internal, I didn't know, nor care—to notice. One minute, I'd be shivering so much that the covers felt like little more than dryer sheets, no matter how tightly I nestled myself underneath them. The next, I'd be tossing them off the bed altogether just to keep from bursting into flames. I was no doctor, but how the hell could somebody feel so cold when they had a fever? 

I was miserable, probably the most I'd been in a long time. It didn't help that I had to get so sick while being so far away from home, either. In fact, my little flu helped to bring about another sickness, the more I lay there thinking about it: homesickness. I wished for my dad to come up with chicken noodle soup or herbal tea, or my mom to give me the paper so I wouldn't miss out on my daily fix. Or even for Farley to come up to cuddle me while we'd sit and read his comics, something we used to do when we were kids.

It's terrible enough just to get sick, worse when you do it out abroad alone, and even worse when do it out abroad alone, and wrapped up in the murder case of the century. More than I could ever attempt to describe. For the rotten cherry on top? I got to realizing how much I'd taken those things for granted until I no longer had them. That's funny, in a crummy way, how we don't seem to really appreciate the good stuff until we lose it.

For some people, those good things weren't missed, because they had never been there, had they?

I felt like crying, to be honest. I might've, too, if I weren't busy hacking so damn much.

Woo-woo. 

The computer screen bathed me in a sterile white glow, pricking needles into my already sore eyes as a voice processed through filters called out my alias: "Elin?" 

"R—Ryuzaki? Th-that you? What d'ya want? You can't see I'm tryin'na sleep?" I asked with a nasally moan as I rubbed my knuckles in my eyes. I had no idea why he was going out of the way to bother me himself, but I felt too lousy to care all that much.

"Are you okay? You sound dreadful." 

"Hahahaha…very funny, man. No, seriously, real perceptive of you," I grumbled, reaching higher to message my temples. My brain was practically frying up there in the old skull; I could smell the smoke pouring out of my ears.

"Do you need a cough suppressant? I will send Watari up with it, if you like." 

"Gimme something that'll cure me altogether, then we'll be getting somewhere."

Pause.

I cleared my throat. "Please?" I croaked.

"…Very well. While we don't have anything that will cure you altogether, we may have something for your symptoms. Watari will bring something up. Is that all right?" 

I sighed. "Yeah, sure, I guess. Thanks."

"Good-night, Elin." Good night? What a laugh!

It took pretty much all the strength I still had to prop myself up on my elbows. "W-wait! Don't you wanna, I dunno, stick around, chew the fat for awhile?"

"Now is not the best time, I'm afraid. It's late; you should be resting." 

How the hell did he expect me to sleep with my symptoms keeping me up? Maybe he was working on something, something case-related, and didn't want the distraction? Once he got into an idea deep enough, you couldn't pry him off of it with a heavy-duty chain and an eighteen-wheeler. Or maybe he just plain didn't want to talk to me?

As much as L bugged me, I hadn't really gotten the chance to talk to anyone since Watari had put me to bed. While I certainly wouldn't say it out loud, in fear of looking more like a weenie than I already did, I felt kind of lonely up in my room. And bored as hell. I knew everyone else downstairs was busy and all, but…

I would've settled to chew the fat with anyone, even L. Even if he was awful at chewing the fat, what with his excessive secretiveness and everything. I mean, this was a guy who wouldn't say zilch about himself, and at the same time, knew just about everything about me, right down to my goddamn medical history. It took away from both sides, but at that moment, I was too miserable to care.

"Are you sure? You're not doing anything too important, right now, are you?" I stopped to hack up Aunt Matilda into a tissue.

"Actually, I am."

I had nothing else to persuade him with, after that. He could never be persuaded. Disgruntled, I flipped over so I wouldn't be facing the monitor and waved my tissue around like a white flag in surrender. "Fine. Fine. Sorry if I'm holding ya up, Ryuzaki. G'night. Thanks and whatnot." Probably one of the most half-assed conversations of my life, if not the most, but way better than nothing. Around here, I had to take whatever I could get. The better part of life is like that, if you think about it.

"Good-night, Elin." 

…

The drugs Watari gave me helped me through the rest of the night…a little too well. I mean it: he might as well have taken a frying pan to the back of my head. I didn't wake up 'til almost eleven the next day, and even then, I felt none the more rested. Felt more like the undead, than anything. Rising out of bed like a stereotypical vampire out of a coffin—except with more aching on the lower back and legs—I shuffled towards the door, no doubt looking every bit as crappy as I felt. But I didn't bother to freshen myself up even a little. I saw no point to.

Besides, I felt like horsing around. I could be very random, when I felt like it, especially when I needed a diversion from the pain. I just didn't want to stay lonely and bored in bed, is all. I think the fever had something to do with my decision, too. And the drugs. My brains were fried, either way.

I stumbled all the way down to Misa's floor, where I knew everyone would be at. They were supposed to be prepping Misa and Aiber for the big "interview" she was supposed to have with the Yotsuba Group, later on that day, rehearsing their lines and whatnot.

As soon as I reached her room, I opened the door ajar to peek inside. I could see Aiber and Misa sitting on couches parallel to one another, and Light and L behind Misa. L had a yellow plastic megaphone gripped in his hand. He spoke directly into it to make himself sound louder, more director-like: "All right, let's try again, from the top." L. He killed me, sometimes. It seemed that the longer I stayed here, the more he had a knack at stirring up a panic. Either by being funny—whether he meant to or not—obnoxious, or downright scary.

Aiber seemed to have a great handle on his lines, naturally. Clasping his hands underneath his chiseled chin, he asked: "Tell me, Misa: is it true you once said that you came to Tokyo in order to meet Kira?"

"Whaaaat?" 

Misa practically flipped over the couch, limbs hoisted in the air like she'd just been electrocuted. L's megaphone made a hollow whap sound as he lightly bopped her over the coconut with it.

"Misa," huffed L, "please stop over-acting; it looks too cheesy, not to mention fake."

Misa regained her composure to pout back at L. "Huh? Misa thought that was a realistic performance."

"Just do it again."

Misa pawed at the air out in front of her with petulant scorn. "Whatever you say, O So Great Director."

"If you don't get serious about this, I'll kick you."

I made that my cue to kick the door open Matsuda-style and shuffle on inside, and I could tell that the ensuing shriek I got from Misa was genuine, this time.

Taking care to strain my voice into a raspy, curdling growl—which, thanks to my congestion, was not a difficult task—I fumbled for the couch with my fingers outstretched like flesh-mutilating claws, tongue lolling out, the works, snarling, "Raaauuuggh…I'm the bitch of Frankenstein. I will harvest your brains, grate 'em and eat them on a plate of salad with low-cal dressing…"

Just for L, because I thought it could scare the pants off of him, I added the last part extra-menacingly: "…and unsweetened tea."

Of course, if I'd had even a shot at scaring old L, he did a terrific job at hiding it. Misa, on the other hand, looked about ready to piss herself as I pranced around the couch like one of those zombies from that Micheal Jackson™ video, but with far less choreography. "Stop it, Elin! This isn't funny!" she squealed as I chased after her. "Are you trying to give everyone your flu?"

Aiber pinched the bridge of his nose. "I swear, sometimes I can't tell who's worse between you two…"

Eventually, Misa broke the cycle around the couch to huddle behind a flustered Light. L, in the meantime, took it upon himself to cut the scene when he reached out to pinch the collar of my PJs. He tapped the top of my head with the megaphone.

"Miss Crocker, may I ask what you are doing out of bed, disrupting us?" he asked. It didn't so much piss me off that he'd tapped my head—though I wasn't crazy about it, naturally—as it did that he didn't sound the least bit irritated. I sort of wanted to irritate him, to be honest. Didn't I say I could be a snot, when I felt like it?

"What? I'm just tryin' to help," I mumbled. "I want to prep Misa for when a monster barges into the room, or something. You never know. It could happen." I shifted my blurry gaze over to Misa. "And I'm no director or nothing, but I gotta say, you didn't handle it, very well."

Misa stuck her tongue out at me from the safety of Light's back: very mature. So I did it right back, plus a small Bronx cheer. Even more mature.

L guided me around to the direction of the open door. "Thank you, but your help is unnecessary. Please go back to bed," he ordered, as even as he'd ever sounded.

I reached up to scratch my head. It started to feel so itchy, all of a sudden. "But it's, what, eleven-something?" I wheezed. "Most people are having lunch, right now."

"If you are hungry, we will send up food. You may be indisposed, Miss Crocker, but like it or not, you are still obligated to cooperate with us."

I glanced over at Aiber. "Yo Aiber, doesn't it bother you any that you're gonna be, you know, showing your face to those guys when you're pretending to be Coil and all?"

He shrugged. "I guess it should, but I'm getting almost three million more to do this, so I can't really complain."

I almost fell over on top of L. "What? Three million! Since when?"

He smirked. "Since I asked for it. Coil will do any job if the money's good, and those boys are spending it like it's on fire. The rate this is going, I might just bankrupt them."

Jesus Christ. What was it, thirteen million now? More than I might ever see in my lifetime. That could've been going to charity! "You say that like that's a good thing. Just what could you do with all that cash, anyway?" I sputtered as I was led out the door.

Aiber ran his fingers through his blond locks. "The possibilities are endless, my friend. For instance, how do you think I got as good-looking as I am now? Currently, I'm thinking of reducing my forehead when this is over; my wife says it's as big as a billboard!"

...This playboy was married? I wonder if she knew how he won the bread?

"Billboards are good for advertising. Besides, it's only big because Aiber needs the space for all his smarts!" giggled Misa, joining in on the joke.

"Or his ego," I muttered.

"Enough small talk, everyone, let's get back into character, please."

…

No matter how much I kneaded my lower back with my knuckles, the ache was still going strong. I sure could've used a hot water bottle or something; anything to scald the pain away. On the upside, I did get a visitor not too long after L had me back in my room.

I flipped over in bed to face the door when I heard a knocking. "Come in," I groaned. I felt far from groaning anymore as soon as I saw the bright face in the doorway, bearing a tray of food out in front of him.

"Hi, Elin! How are you feeling? I brought some soup…"

"Matsu!" I cheered, or at least tried to without sputtering into a cough. Despite the ache in my legs, I couldn't resist kicking them under the covers. At least, until I got another look at his face, whereupon the beam on my face crinkled into a wince when I saw an opaque surgeon's mask strapped over his smiling face. And the gloves.

I flopped back down on the bed, sprawled out like a dead pigeon out on the concrete. "Great. Yeah. Treat me like a diseased animal, why don't you?" I murmured, not to Matsuda in particular, but that didn't keep him from hearing it. I always was terrible at keeping thoughts to myself. Upon seeing my face, Matsuda peered down at his mask, then quick placed my tray on the table.

"Oh! I-I'm really sorry, Elin. Ryuzaki made it mandatory that I took these precautions if I was going to see you, so I, um, don't catch your bug."

My eyes felt they were going to pop clean out of their sockets. "Aw, he can go shove it."

Matsuda looked at me like I'd just spouted a hot, reeking heap of blasphemy. Hey, for all I cared, I might as well have. In fact, the only reason I could get away with saying stuff like that was because I wasn't a member of the task force, or healthy. That fever seemed to have busted the word filter in my brain. Either way, my words held no meaning. Not that that exactly justified my saying it, though. I mean, L was getting me soup and everything, even if he had Watari and Matsuda acting as his proxies.

"Well, um, at any rate, I brought you lunch. And a couple other things, too. Here."

Matsuda leaned in to fluff up the pillows so I could prop myself up on them. Then he handed me a hot water bottle—a hot water bottle, for Christ's sake! Yeah, I'd needed it, but I didn't remember ever asking for it.

When Matsuda carefully set up the tray in front of me, I almost couldn't believe what I found on there.

A steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup. And a tea set. The soup didn't look like it'd come from a can, either; it looked like it'd been made from scratch. Nothing against canned soup, but you can usually tell when the soup came from a can by the way the noodles and chicken chunks are shaped: the chicken bits are cut like cubes, and the noodles always follow a particular pattern: thick and synthetic-looking. I had to admit, this was a little…much. For L.

Especially for L.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Matsuda reached into his pocket to pull out a rolled-up newspaper, today's listing of current events. He placed it beside me. "When you're done eating, you can read this while you digest. We know how much you love the paper."

Indeed, I did. The crisp scent of fresh newsprint always had a reinvigorating effect on me. The grub wasn't half-bad, either. I leaned in to inhale the tendrils of steam rising from the bowl. Steam was supposed to be good for congestion and whatnot: got the old sinuses draining out.

...

Was this a copy of the Times™? How on Earth did L get a copy of the Times™ in a place like Japan? He had his connections, I guess. The real question here was more like, why?

I could feel myself flushing out all over, and not just from the fever. I honestly had no idea what to make of all of it. "Well, heh, hey, Matsui, thank you! You're a regular sweetheart."

Matsuda helped himself to the space beside me on the bed and twiddled his thumbs, the pink bleeding into his cheeks a stark contrast to the starch white of his mask. "You're welcome. But…I was just the delivery boy. Watari cooked everything, and Ryuzaki sent me up here."

"Ryuzaki, huh?"

Taking up a spoonful of soup, I gave it a thoughtful blow. How the hell did he know…? 

Maybe he'd planted one of those sophisticated chips in my brain while I was sleeping, so he could monitor my every thought and feeling? I even vaguely toyed with the idea that he'd been secretly observing me throughout my whole life: very far-fetched, I realize, but he had a knack of making you feel like that, that he'd been observing you, your whole freaking life.

Both ideas made me shudder.

On the other hand, I did kind of start wishing I hadn't said he could go stick it up his butt.

Slurp. "He caught my flu, didn't he?"

"What do you mean, Elin?"

"Ryuzaki caught my flu, and it fried his brains out. That's why he's turning Care Bear™ on me. I mean, seriously. This is the same guy who bopped me on the head with a toy megaphone, earlier today."

Matsuda squirmed a little in his seat. "I don't think so. I don't think Ryuzaki is the type to get sick. Not calling him inhuman or anything, but…he can't really afford to get sick, can he?"

That idea made the contents in my stomach harden to gravel. I don't know why that bothered me; no one was too crazy about getting sick, anyway. But it did. Something sounded wrong about a guy never getting sick just because he couldn't afford to, with his job and all. It sounded…sad.

I shoveled another spoonful into my mouth, savoring the feeling of soothing, warm broth trickling down my scratchy throat—temporary as the relief was—before muttering, "Well, between you and me, I wish he'd make up his mind. Is he a buttcake, or a jerk with a heart of gold?"

What a terrific expose that would've made: "World's Greatest Detective: Buttcake, Or Jerk With a Heart Of Gold?"

I heard Matsuda choke, most likely because of my usage of the words "buttcake" and "jerk." He must've also thought he was obligated to answer that. In truth, my question was pretty open-ended, more than anything. What else could it be? Matsuda couldn't figure L out any better than I could, and of course, he'd want to say something in his defense. L was his boss, after all. His livelihood rested in his hands, since the police had backed out of the investigation. And he did help him climb out of that jam with the Yotsuba Group.

So I decided to change the subject, something we could both discuss more freely: "So, er, how does it feel not to be Misa's manager, anymore?"

Matsuda sighed. I could tell he was still pretty bummed out about losing the job. The guy had catered to Misa's every whim like the regular puppy-dog he was for her. "Not very good, but…it's for the best, I guess. It'd look pretty suspicious for me to continue to walk around with Misa-Misa when I'm supposed to be…uh, 'dead' and all."

The guys couldn't figure out a way to go ahead and arrest the Yotsuba heads without so much red tape to cut through, what with it still being unclear whether one of them was Kira or they just had contact with him. If none of those guys were Kira after all, we'd have ruined whatever was left of their lives that they hadn't already ruined themselves for nothing. Not to mention, Kira could easily pull a Houdini and disappear out of reach again.

So whatever rift that had split between them and L before turned out to be short-lived, and the guys would help out L however they could for a little longer. At least, for now. Your typical break-up and make-up.

Sniffing, I reached up to squeeze his shoulder. "Don't worry, Matsui. The way I see it, if you were still her manager, we wouldn't get to be sitting here, right now, chewing the fat. So, hey, who's taken your place? Did Ryuzaki get someone else to take over?"

Even with half of his face obscured by the mask, I could see it beaming. "Actually, yeah. Mogi."

That practically had me spit up all that soup back into the bowl. "Mogi? No way! Get outta town!" It wasn't that I didn't think Mogi was competent; he was. He just…well, he didn't have the pep Matsuda had, the amount of pep that I figured was required to manage a bubbly superstar like Misa. Then again, no one on the task force came close to having the kind of pep Matsuda had, save for Misa herself, and Aiber was too busy passing himself off as Coil.

Oh boy. Was it really wise to have Misa go over there and tell those bozos she had been accused of being the Second Kira? Aiber would be with her leading the interview, but how would the other seven take it? Would they tell Kira? What would happen to her, then?

Maybe nothing. She was just accused of being the Second Kira, was all. It wasn't like she really had been, or even knew who the hell Kira was. We wouldn't have had to go through all this trouble if she did.

We chewed the fat that way, for awhile, while I finished my lunch. Once the spoon clinked into the bowl in satisfaction, I stopped to pat my bloated belly. "Mm-mm, my compliments to Watari. And…Ryuzaki, I guess. And you too, Matsu," I said with a slight belch, prompting my hand to shoot over my mouth. "Hm! Pardon my French."

When I reached for the paper, however, I paused to glance up at Matsuda. I suddenly wanted to ask him a favor, but wasn't sure if I should.

"Matsui?"

He started moving the tray back to the table. "Yeah?"

My gaze drifted back down to the paper as I spread it on my lap. "Could you—nah, I don't think I should make you do that…"

My buddy perked up. "What is it, Elin? If you need something, I can readily fetch it for you." He meant that, too. Just seeing the ready look on his face almost had me wishing I hadn't said anything.

"No. Really. It's…it's nothin'. It's too stupid…"

"Come on, Elin, what do you need? I'm sure it's anything but."

Well, he did insist. I took a deep breath: in through the runny nostrils, out through the mouth in one thick puff. "See, I…back at home, when we were kids, and I got sick like I am now, my brother used to sit in bed with me, and we'd read together. And kind of…"

I gulped down the lump crawling up my throat. "…cuddle, a little."

You should've seen how old Matsuda took that. I found it a miracle that he didn't fall off the bed and into the used balls of tissue littering the floor. "Y-you guys cuddled?"

I nodded, shutting my eyes for a minute to reminisce on those good ol' days. "Uh-huh. It was one of those rare moments when we actually acted like siblings." I couldn't help but choke a little, and not just because of the cough.

That's when I felt a hand squeezing my shoulder. My eyes popped open to find Matsuda leaning in to snake an arm around me, his face glowing bright pink.

"You want me to do the same thing, don't you?" he asked softly.

Now it was my turn to blush, the warmth of his hand shooting through my shoulder and straight to my heart, and my eyes. "Well, uh, not really, I—yeah. Yeah, that's kind of where I was getting at. Yeah. I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Elin. If it'll help you feel better, then I'll do it."

"But…what about my flu? Aren't you worried about catching it?"

"Ha-ha! I'm wearing a mask and gloves, aren't I?"

So the two of us stayed that way for awhile: one arm wrapped around the other's shoulders while Matsuda held up his side of the paper, and I held up mine. Arguably the best I'd felt all day.

"Thank you, Matsui," I muttered, resting my head against him. "You wanna see the funnies, first?"

Matsuda arched an eyebrow. "The what?"

I shrugged against him. "You know, the funnies? That's New York slang for the comics." I usually saved the comics for last, but this time, I didn't feel like ruining the mood with a gloomy headliner. Only God knew how much of our fill of gloominess we got and more from the damn case.

"Ah. Over here, we have manga!"

…

Matsuda wanted to go back downstairs to see if Misa and Mogi had come back yet from the interview. So I figured, "Let me go with you."

"I don't know, Elin. Are you sure? Aren't you supposed to stay in bed?"

"Yeah, but just until I got through the worst of it. And I'm feeling better, already!" I cheered, hunching over to quell the cough erupting from my throat. After that, I looked up at him with a sheepish grin. "See? Fit as a fiddle!"

"That didn't sound very fit to me…"

I guess I shouldn't have used his good nature against him, but I couldn't help it. No way in hell I could stay in bed, at least not without a break. I folded my hands and pressed them against his breastbone, pleading, "Please, Matsu? I just wanna say hi to Misa and Mogi. I'll go right back up to bed afterwards, promise!"

Matsuda must've caved, or else he wouldn't have gone out of his way to help me downstairs like the sweetheart he was. Maybe I could've made it on my own, but we were headed in the same direction. Besides, my gait was a bit shaky, probably from lying around in bed, all day. I needed to walk off the ache that resulted from my sedentary situation.

"Is Misa-Misa back, yet?" Matsuda asked when we got downstairs.

"No, she isn't," said Light, who was, as usual, sitting at the desk with L. L kept his eyes trained to the computer screen in front of him, a coffee cup perched to his lips.

"Oh. Misa-Misa sure is late," muttered Matsuda.

I sort of expected alarms to go off or something once I'd left my room. I expected L to have the task force tackle me and shove me into one of those fancy sanitary bubbles. Nothing of that sort happened. Without even looking back at me, I heard L say, "Elin, you are out of bed, again."

Folding my arms, I locked my legs in as confident a stance as I could, leaning away from Matsuda as I said, "Yeah? So?"

"Has your condition improved?"

I made the motion of tipping my imaginary hat with a smile not quite as strong as I would've liked. "Sure, it has! Of course, it has! In fact, if I felt like it, I could sing all of the national anthem, right no—ack-ack-aaack!"

Gramma Phyllis found herself splattered onto my open palm. Matsuda turned almost as green as the blob of phlegm. I thought I could see everybody in the room—save for L, naturally—withdraw, like I was preparing to set off a grenade right in the middle of the room.

Suddenly, my head felt heavy, as though full of lead, forcing my gaze to shift to my sock-feet. "Ahem! Well…okay, maybe my bill isn't squeaky-clean…"

Light got up to hand me a sanitized wipe, before sitting back down. "You shouldn't be out and about if you're still sick," he chided. "You won't recover any faster if you don't rest." That drove me nuts. How did these guys expect me to catch even a wink with everything going on, no matter how much I'd tried to distract myself from it?

Slurp! 

"If you insist on continuing to act out like this," said L, "we may be forced to restrain you."

I would've triple-dog-dared him to, but in a fleeting, rare instance of prudence, I stopped myself. L was the kind of guy you would never want to triple-dog-dare, because he never backed down, no matter what you'd dare him to do. While I wasn't sure whether he'd meant that or not—I'd often find myself doubting just about anything he said—after seeing what he'd done to both Light and Misa in the past, I figured it safer to take his word for it. He was pretty hot for restraints…on everyone but himself, that is.

Instead, I told the tiger to cool his jets. "I just came out here to see if our guys were back. As soon as I see 'em, I'll march right back upstairs."

Wouldn't you know? As if on cue, the doors swished open to allow those two inside.

"You're back!" cheered Matsuda.

Mogi didn't say a word, but Misa popped out from behind him to wave at us. "Heeey!" Her cheery smile fell, and suddenly she looked kind of beat. "Misa's pooped," she sighed, having just enough energy to sashay over to Light and plop down on a sweet spot in his lap.

Light made no efforts to brush her off, but looked none the less flustered. He always got a little flustered when Misa tried to cozy up to him.

"Hey, Misa!"

Misa turned to me with a frown. "What are you doing down here? Shouldn't you be upstairs where you can't infect anyone?" That shut me up. She must've still been sore over my clowning around earlier, or something.

"How did it go?" asked L.

"Yotsuba agreed to hire Misa as their new spokesperson for their new ad campaign," said Mogi, being the type who usually only spoke when necessary.

"I see. That's good to hear."

In spite of myself, I drummed up a smile and a thumbs-up. "No fooling? Well, shucks! Congrats on landing this big fish, Misa! A toast!"

Misa beamed, reaching into her coat pocket to dig out her cell phone. "And I made sure to give them my cell phone number. Would you believe that three out of those seven guys have already messaged me, asking for a private date?" Whoa. Did she mean, since she left their building? Jesus Christ, businessmen and their libidos…

"What?" Boy, did Matsuda look stunned, maybe even a little crushed. I could never say it with certainty, but the tiny romantic in me speculated that Matsuda might've had a crush on her. Unlike Misa, however, I never rubbed it in his face. For one, I didn't know if I was right, so I'd only look dumb to assume that I was if I really wasn't (i.e., he could've just felt bad about not being as good of a manager as Mogi was). For another, it already sucked by itself that if he really did have feelings for her, he couldn't act on them, since Misa had her eyes on Light. He didn't need me to encourage the sucking.

"So now Misa accepts their invitations and investigates them, right? It's all going exactly as planned!"

"No. The plan's getting canceled, right now."

Misa's grin crumpled away as she turned to her boyfriend. "Huh? But why? Everything's been going so smoothly up until now."

Light gently guided Misa off of his lap and onto her feet. "If we go any further, you'll be in danger. You can still appear in their commercials, but from now on, you should deny that you were suspected of being the Second Kira and was detained by L. Mogi will continue being your bodyguard, but you'll be working solely as a celebrity."

I'd half-expected Misa to fight his proposal, since she'd been so hot about carrying out the plan. But believe it or not, she left it at that. Oh, the look on her face conveyed all of her disappointment well enough, and resignation, something that I hadn't thought the little diva was capable of.

But then, what else could I expect? She hung onto nearly Light's every word like a bass onto a fishhook, to the point of wearing it on her lips.

"If that's what you want, Light…then that's what Misa will do," she sighed. "Oh, well. Misa is tired. Tomorrow's shoot is bright and early, so I'd better get some sleep," she giggled.

Taking that as my cue to take leave, as well, I stretched my arms high over my head and yawned. "I better go catch some Z's, myself. See, Ryuzaki? I told you I'd go to my room, didn't I?"

"Do you need help getting up to your room, Elin?" asked Matsuda.

I shook my head. "Nah, I think I got it. Thanks, anyway, though. G'night, ever'body!" I waddled straight out of the doorway, but Misa lingered, peeking across the threshold with a soft, flirty smile playing on her lips.

"Hey Light," she cooed, "wanna come sleep with Misa tonight?"

Light had been standing over L to look at something on a monitor, when he turned to glance at her, puzzled. "Wh-what are you talking about?"

Misa laughed, "Just kidding! You're saving it for after we catch Kira, right? You don't need to be shy about it." Of course, he was. What a hell of a way to celebrate! I wasn't even in that conversation and that had me tugging at the collar of my PJs. In a way, I couldn't blame Light for getting all shy like that; that is a pretty embarrassing thing to be asked. I don't mean that Misa didn't have a right to ask that. She did, theoretically, since they were boyfriend and girlfriend and all. But to ask your guy that in front of mixed company? You shouldn't do that, especially not in front of people like L.

"Yes, Light, there's no need to be shy."

"I'm not being shy!" Light shot back, all defensive and all.

"No need to be so serious, either."

I'm not sure if L even knew what Light and Misa were talking about, in hindsight. He was a virgin, if you ever saw one. He was about as virginal as they come, and more.

...Or that could've been him being the dumb, pervy creep Misa liked to accuse him of being. Maybe both. Yeah. Definitely both.

…

Misa and I were both going up the same way, so we wound up sharing the elevator for a while. Naturally, Misa stood way the hell on the one side, leaving me isolated on the other. I couldn't have that, so I tried to break the ice.

Rubbing my knuckles against the fabric of my shirt, I said, "No, seriously, congratulations on getting that job, Misa. Even if those Yotsuba guys are slobs…how do you put up with that? Getting asked out, all the time, I mean?"

Misa was staring up at the tiles on the ceiling, her eyes clouded with thought. That was unusual, in and of itself. I don't mean that Misa was braindead or anything; she just hadn't seemed like the type to sit back and contemplate things. She was a very spontaneous girl, more than anything. "Thank you. The way Misa deals with it is to always remember that Misa has Light. So long as Misa has him, no mountain is too hard to move."

Maybe she was secretly sore about Light canceling her master plan? Or was it about his rejecting her offer to sleep with him? Whatever the problem, I thought about lightening her up with a little old-fashioned messing around.

"Hey, Misa, I gotta know: did I help you?"

Misa blinked. "Huh? Help me with what?"

"For when a monster might barge in, of course. Did any monsters barge in on the interview? Not counting the Yotsuba members, I mean?"

Used to her usual bubbliness, I hadn't expected her to get all stone-silent, all of a sudden, especially since I'd only been palling with her.

"Aw, you probably handled it, all right. How else could you have come back without your brains on a salad?" I chuckled, reaching over to nudge her in the ribs.

"Don't touch me!" 

That was enough to send me reeling to the other side of the elevator. What with the feeling of rocketing upwards that came with riding the damn thing, I found it a wonder I didn't crack my head against the wall.

As soon as she saw the shock contorting my face, her own softened. "I mean, please don't touch me. You still have the flu-bug. Misa is okay with sharing, so long as it isn't either of two things: Light, and the flu-bug."

Slowly, I peeled myself off of the wall, somehow finding it in me to plaster the grin back on my face. "Yeah? Then would you mind sharing whether or not there were any monsters at your interview? Come on, Misa, it's a yes-or-no question," I sniffed.

"Of course not," she huffed. "Why would Misa see monsters at her interview, silly? Ha! Monsters. Where do you come up with all these crackpot ideas?"

"I could ask you the same thing, you know."

"No, you can't! My ideas have grounds; yours don't." Boy, Misa killed me, sometimes.

"No, they don't have—aw, forget it," I grumbled, waving a dismissive hand. "Don't we gotta go to bed or something? I'm not much in the mood for more girl talk, right now." I wasn't, either. In fact, I thought I was starting to lose my voice. Literally. Kind of hard to argue your point when your voice is going, huh? Especially to a brickhead like Misa, who was impossible to bicker with, in the first place.

"Misa's not sure she is, either."

Besides, if the conversation would steer in the direction I feared it would—like it always did—I was in no mood for debate. Stress and sickness: not a nice combination.

I didn't, however, forget to tell Misa good-night when she got off on her floor. "Hey, uh, break a leg tomorrow at your shoot, Misa. Upward and onward."

She, in turn, didn't forget to smile back at me. "Thank you. Get well soon, Elin." People are strange, what more can I say? One minute, you'll argue like cats and dogs; the next, kisses and make-ups all around, or at the very least, baseline civility. When you have to live with them, though, how could it be any other way?

I did sort of wonder for a while, until I got up to my room, why Misa would react so strangely to my joke. Yeah, sure, it might've been a lousy joke, I'd admit, but that lousy? My fever wouldn't let me concentrate on it for very long, though, and by the time I'd flopped down on my bed like a fallen tree, I'd excused it as residual stress from her interview with Yotsuba. In fact, she thought she handled herself way better than I would have. If that'd been me having to talk to them, I might've tossed my cookies all over their shoes.

Ugh…my mind decided to draw the line at the thought about tossing cookies, lest the thought turned into a reality.

…

They say that you have to hit rock bottom before you can climb back up again, that it's always darkest before the dawn, that it gets worse before it gets better, yada-yada, blah, blah. They usually talk about crisis when they say things like that, but it applies to the little things too, like the flu. Sleep? That's the last thing I'd call whatever I got that night. That night, the always-fabulous Fever Dream Fairy paid me a visit, sprinkled a bit of her pixie dust in my eyes, and kept me up for the better part of the night.

First, I'd keep flipping the pillows underneath me like flapjacks, hoping that the cool side would lull me into a more natural slumber, not like the coma brought about by the drugs L had provided me. After about five or six tissues tossed carelessly about the floor—I bet that gave L a hemorrhoid, my throwing my trash around like that; the sadist in me hoped so—I'd drift into the realm behind my eyelids, only to be welcomed by arguably the most bizarre fever dream I'd ever had in living memory.

I'd stand out in the middle of a black, empty street—no buildings, no cars, no people—rain crashing down like a cascade of icicles into every pore of my skin. Thunder would bellow back and forth through my ears like celestial bowling pins toppling down with every streak of white lightning that lit up the inky sky. For a moment, I would make out a silhouette protruding from the horizon, the only object for miles around. It'd look like a tower. A skyscraper? The task force headquarters, maybe? I didn't know. All I knew was that it looked like a tower, or some stupid thing along those lines.

It'd get worse. I'd stand there entranced for no particular reason at all, like I'd lost my mind a long way back, and all I'd had left were my senses to make anything out. In another clap of thunder, the sky would light up above me like I were trapped inside a flickering light bulb on its deathbed, just enough for me to catch another, smaller silhouette sailing over the tower. A bird? A kite? A bat out of hell? The thing would be too obscured to make much of anything out of it apart that it had wings.

In the next clap of lightning, though, the thing would be gone. I mean, gone, like it'd never appeared in the first place. In its place, the tower would suddenly burst into flames. Tongues of flames rebelling against the damp, unforgiving atmosphere like crackling whips from the rooftop downward until a pillar of scathing orange light would dominate the entire horizon—

…then I'd wake up, frantically pawing the darkness for the lamp, the shout that usually accompanied dreams like that reduced to little more than a croak, like an extra-slimy frog had lodged itself in my throat and was now playing the ventriloquist game on me.

Once my stinging eyes adjusted to the light, I'd see that I'd returned to my room, everything in the exact same condition as it'd been when I'd drifted off. You know, nothing on fire or anything. I'd sit up in bed rubbing the throb out of my head, my eyes, my nose, wondering if those drugs had fried my brains out, and if so, why no one had bothered to give me a heads-up, before stumbling for the bathroom to turn on the bath faucet. I wouldn't fill it up, nor would I strip all the way. Instead, I'd settle for leaning over the tub and sticking my head under the nozzle to savor the feeling of warm water trickling through my hair and down my cheeks—feel the image wash out of my head like a chalk drawing in the rain—inhaling the steam from both orifices in hopes of clearing up my congestion.

With that out of the way, I'd wring my hair dry, wobble back into bed, pop a cough drop to soothe my throat, and smash my face into the pillows, paying as little attention to the dream as possible because hey, it was only a fever dream, and the more time I'd waste thinking about it, about anything, the more time I'd lose in sleep.

Then the whole damn cycle would start over from Step One. I don't know how long I kept going like that—too long, that much was sure—but God, was I snuffed at the end of it all, almost too numb with delirium and insomnia to even think about crying about it—not that it would've done me any good to. I was just so frustrated. 

When I reached for another tissue to come up empty-handed, I took the box and tossed it across the room. It tumbled harmlessly to the floor, without a sound, without even reaching the wall. Sitting hunched over on one side of my bed, I glared at the laptop sitting beside me.

"Wonder if he'll be able to hear me if I call him?" I wondered out loud, just to see if I could speak well enough to do it. I could barely even hear myself, my voice squeaking out like a timid croak. Not putting too much faith in how I would sound over the computer, I decided to get new tissues myself; screw L and his stupid restraints. This was an emergency.

Misa had always been sort of a night owl, even if she did have something to do the following morning, so I made the journey to her floor with more difficulty than I would've liked. I practically had to lift one leg in front of the other, with my hands, I mean, in order to make any distance. With a little determination, though, I made it to her door. Sure enough, I saw warm, dimmed light trickling out from under it, but by the muffled voice on the other side, it sounded like she was talking. To herself?

"Uh-huh. Sure! It's settled, then. I'll meet you at the hospital, after the shoot. Ooh, I can't wait, either! Well, see you tomorrow. Buh-bye!"

It sounded like she was talking to somebody on the phone…who? It wasn't any of my business, but it had me wondering, anyway. A friend? Another client? She sounded fairly anxious to meet them. Did Light know about it?

I pretty much skimmed over it, feeling too lousy to give it any real contemplation. I raised my fist to knock, but then I paused. Would she make a big stink if I disturbed her? Would she think that I'd heard her talking on the phone and rip me a new one? After all, I had a knack of listening to things I probably shouldn't have. The fact that she'd made it clear that she didn't want to see me until I got better kept me frozen, too.

Forget it. God made toilet paper for wiping, in more ways than one. 

Yellowness and sickness is a deadly combination.

…

I had no more fever dreams after I'd crawled back into bed, thank God. Once I got my toilet paper, I flipped the pillows over to the cool side, punched them until they were fluffy, and just lay there, wondering who the hell had Misa been talking to on the phone. While I didn't come up with an answer, I did manage to fall asleep on it, so no more fever dreams. For the time being.

That didn't make the rest of the night too peaceful, though.

Sometime while I snored my head off, I must've tried to reach over to scratch my butt or something, but couldn't move my arm, because my eyes fluttered open to stare out into the darkness as soon as I sensed the inertia. I was lying on my side stiff as a board with my arms folded across my chest like a mummy's, hands against the collarbone.

At first, I thought it'd only been my fever, but I could've sworn I felt something warm from behind me. A presence. Lying perfectly still, like a rock.

…Matsuda…?

In fact, someone was lying behind me. But it wasn't Matsuda. How did I figure that? Well…

"…Come on, she's sleeping, now. You really should leave her alone…"

…

Was that Light I just heard?

By that point my eyes could've popped three feet out of their sockets, if that'd been scientifically possible. If…if that was Light, then wouldn't that mean…?

I peered down at my arms. A second pair of arms had them pinned against my chest by the wrists. A pair of awfully familiar-looking arms clad in white and gloves.

I must've jumped so far out of my skin I could've crashed straight through the window and right down those fifteen stories to the ground. I'd have to say what happened in a headliner:

"Super-Sleuth Snuggles Sick Story-teller!" 

I don't think I could really classify it as "snuggling," to be honest. More like "pinning me down so I couldn't move up to sock his jaw." It definitely didn't help that I couldn't scream either. I tried to naturally, but a scream has no real effect when your voice couldn't go any higher than a croaky gasp.

"Awake, I see," I heard him say, not the least bit stirred. His already soft voice sounded muffled, probably by a mask. So was Light's, for that matter.

I thrashed my head back and forth squalling, "What the hell're you doing? What the hell're you doing here?" It was times like these where I had to wonder if Misa had been right about L's being a pervert, even if she'd taken it back the day before. "Get offa me!"

He wouldn't budge. If anything I thought I felt his grip on me tighten a little, like a little kid clinging to a favorite teddy bear or something. "I said I would use restraints if necessary if you chose to continue to act out," he said, the rationality in his tone a stark contrast to the apparent irrationality of his actions. "Besides," he added with a tinge of what might've been called innocence just for the sake of calling it something, "I thought you enjoyed being held like this?"

And he had to have Light there with him, too. Jesus Christ, like it wouldn't be enough to scare the crap out of me, but to humiliate the rest out of me, on top of it. My insides practically burned imaginary holes through my skin, while I hoped in vain that it'd be enough to set him on fire, as well.

"Not like this! Get off me, you jerk!" I demanded, my words even more useless than usual what with my throat and everything. Since my fists were useless, I tried to swing my legs back to kick him. But he'd had my damn legs pinned in place too, his bare very slightly rough-feeling feet locking around my ankles and squeezing them together like a shackle. He had me trapped.

Damn him and his being stronger than he looked…

Just when it started to look like I'd have to bite him, the chain linking L and Light together rattled as I heard Light say, "Come on Ryuzaki, let her go! This is completely unnecessary and you know it! We need to get back downstairs." I could hear the slight but unmistakable trace of discomfort in his tone, almost the way he'd sounded when Misa had asked him to sleep with her. I didn't blame him, frankly.

"As soon as I am convinced that you will stay in bed, I will release you." Well if I hadn't already been panicking, I sure was now. L could never be convinced.

So I caved: "Okay, fine! Fine, I-I'll stay in bed! J-j-just get outta here! Uncle! Uncle!"

Of course L didn't move right away. He never moved unless he felt like it, leaving me at his mercy or lack thereof. I thought I could feel the unruly bangs of his hair brushing the back of my neck like antennae, promptly sending a shudder down my spine, up, down again. God, could he scare the snot out of anyone without even trying.

"…Please? C-come on, man," I begged. "Look, if this is about saying how you can go shove it, I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean it like—wh-what I really meant to say was—oh, come on, I said 'uncle,' f-f-for Christ's sake."

Seconds ticked away like hours. Shutting my eyes, I had to hold my breath just to keep it from turning too shallow, will my heart to stop beating before it busted clean out of my chest. I didn't think I pulled that off too well though. Hard-core weenies can never hide their nature no matter how hard they try.

"Ryuzaki!" snapped Light.

Finally—

"You really should stop talking if you are losing your voice. You're only putting excessive strain on your throat."

To my greatest relief I felt his arms and feet start to withdraw like the ebb of the tide. The covers rustled as he began to worm his way out of them. "I'll send Watari up with something for you. Which reminds me: if you need something, there is a reason why we installed a laptop into your room. So we can get it without your having to leave it. Or has your fever affected your memory as well as your judgment?"

He paused to pinch the fringe of the covers in his fingers. To pull them neatly up to just above my shoulders.

Only until I was sure he was up on his feet did I exhale, then flip over to glare forks and knives, as he slipped his hands into his pockets and led Light out the door like absolutely nothing had happened. He could walk away from a train wreck, unscathed. "What's wrong with your judgment?" I wanted to ask.

Instead, I settled for, "You're just plain wacko, man. You're nuts. I swear to God, you are." I didn't know if he could hear that—he must've; he never missed anything, just chose not to verbally acknowledge some things—but hey, somebody had to point that out to him. The sad thing about a lot of crazies is that they don't even know they're crazy. Or maybe they would know, but they just didn't know how to act any other way, as the case could've been for old L. There's a difference, you know. He seemed too smart to not know everything under the goddamn rainbow, including his own insanity.

But if that really were his case—that he didn't know how to act any other way, I mean—that sounded even sadder than the former idea, when I got to thinking about it, how determined he'd been to keep me in bed and all. I couldn't explain why, exactly. It just did.


	17. Hero

I spent the rest of my time afterwards lying there, hugging my pillow, thinking, first trying to figure out why the hell L would do something like…what he did. I didn't even have a name for what he did, really; it was too weird to have a name. He was too weird for a name. Literally.

No. The real question was: why the hell did he do anything he did? God, was he crazy. He made my brain twitch by just making me think about how crazy he was. I would've thought I'd gotten used to it, considering how much time I'd spent with him, but I didn't.

There in bed, as I rolled over to the side and pulled the covers tighter over myself, I thought about all the times he'd jerked me around, in front of everyone. Oh, he jerked everyone around, but not in the way he did to me: like a twerp. He didn't even treat Light like that, and he called him a suspect!

As I rolled over to the other side, however, I thought about all the nice things he'd done…or at least, everything that could qualify as "nice." How can somebody be such a creep and such a Care Bear™ at the same time, with such consistency? I mean, had he been trying to scare me into submission when he did that? Or had he honestly wanted me to stay in bed for my sake…in his own backwards way?

My anger towards him gradually melted into pity, the more I lay there thinking about the old prick. Did he know that? Did he know he was crazy? Of course, he did; why wouldn't he? If he knew about how much I loved chicken soup without my even telling him, how could he not know his own insanity? So, did he just not know any better?

Well, I guessed, if I'd been living for and by myself for the better part of my life, shut off from the outside world to the point where people only knew me by a filtered voice and a stupid letter, I probably wouldn't, either…no matter how brilliant I'd be. I shut my eyes in sad meditation, and partly because of my flu.

L. No matter how high the pedestal you sat on, you must've been one of the most pitiful characters in history, if not the most. Not as a detective, but as a plain human being.

Rap-rap. 

My eyes popped open at the sound of knuckles on my door. "Come in," I moaned.

Whoever was knocking on my door didn't come in. "Elin? Are you up?" they called. That sounded like Misa.

I heaved a mucus-rattling sigh. "Yeah. Come in."

"Misa has to leave for her shoot pretty soon, so an immediate answer would be good."

I sat up in bed to scowl at the door. "I said—aw, good grief." I face-palmed as soon as I realized what the problem was: my voice was shot. Misa couldn't hear me. So I wormed out from under the covers and trudged for the door, figuring that L couldn't penalize me as long as I didn't leave my room altogether.

I opened the door by a crack. "Yeah?"

Misa stood about three feet away, blinking at me. "Oh! Morning, Elin! Misa just wanted to say good-morning before leaving for today's shoot!" she cheered.

I rested my forehead on the door. Those drugs L had given me were finally starting to kick in. "Thank you. Mornin', yourself…"

Misa cocked her head to the side, her pigtails swinging around like blonde ribbons. "Oh no, what happened to your voice, Elin? Did a froggie get caught in your throat?"

I cleared my throat and worked up a feeble smile, leaning on the door like I was gearing up to fall asleep against it. I suspected that L gave me the drowsy drugs on purpose, to keep me quiet. "Y—you could say that, yeah. Listen, don't worry about me. You just focus on what you've gotta do today, and have fun while you're doing it. Not that you don't kind of already do that..."

"Oh, I'll have oodles of fun, you can count on that." Misa started to prance her way down the hallway, when she put on the brakes to turn back and smirk at me. "Misa was right."

Rubbing the crud out of my eyes, I bit: "Right about what?"

"Ryuzaki's crazy…crazy about you, that is. He's also crazy in general, but whatever."

It was a miracle I didn't fall completely flat on my face. "Aw, ppht—Misa, c-come on! Didn't you read the headlines? He said he could fall for you, didn't he? This journalist heard it directly from the horse's mouth."

She shrugged. "That was because Misa kissed him. He probably hasn't gotten a lot of kisses before. Or he probably noticed you listening in on everything and got shy about it. After all, there's no shame in a guy admitting to loving Misa. In fact, something would be wrong with him if he didn't!"

Misa could be a little vain, sometimes. Not too vain, mind you, and it wasn't like her vanity was unwarranted. But she never wanted to be seen looking anything less than her best, and not just for Light or her clients. I mean everyone. She never confessed to it outright, not to me at least, but there was something about the way she took care of herself, did everything she could to maintain her health, her youth, her beauty, and even tried to get me in on some of her habits on occasion ("to help boost my self-confidence").

Almost as though she were somehow afraid to lose it. She acted like she could get wrinkles any day when she was too young for them.

Then again, being a model making it without family and being grilled and constantly watched for something she didn't do, putting up with pains in the ass like me and L and Higuchi...

She gasped to herself. "Ooh, I wonder if that was a ploy to make you jealous..."

That word again. "Jealous?" No way. The guy was no chick magnet like Light was; he was lucky to have a pretty girl like Misa even look in his direction without cringing, never mind give him a kiss. Nope, that was just him being shy.

"Anyway, he can't have Misa because Light already has Misa. Besides, Ryuzaki never cuddled me like that." She shook her head. "Can't say that Misa approved of Light being in there too, though…"

Oh, great. She saw that on the camera, or what? I shook a hand out in front of me like a shield. "That was not cuddling, Misa. I-I don't—I don't even know what that was, but it wasn't cuddling. He's just picking on me, again. God only knows why." A residual shiver tiptoed down my backbone when I thought back on it, how he'd kept me pinned down and everything.

Misa's smirk only grew broader. "Keep justifying it while you can, Elin. You can't hide what's inside, and neither can Ryuzaki!" she sang.

Suddenly lacking the energy to keep my head up, my gaze rolled down to her feet. That's when something occurred to me: if Misa could see what'd happened on the camera…did that mean that L could hear us talking like we were about him? Oh man, I could only imagine how he'd be taking it; it made my stomach somersault, just thinking about it.

He'd always seemed so nonchalant, though…maybe he wouldn't know what to make of it all? I mean, only because he didn't seem like the type to just…crush on somebody. In fact, if I'd ask him what "crush" meant for the hell of it, he would probably say, "'Crush'…a noun and a verb. As a verb, it could mean 'to press between opposing bodies so as to break or injure;' 'to break, pound or grind into small fragments or powder;' et cetera, et cetera…"

Like reading straight out of the dictionary, pretty much.

"Misa, correct me if I'm wrong, but don't you have a shoot to go to?"

Her hand fanned in front of her mouth. "Ohmygosh, you're right! Misa had better hustle! Buh-bye, Elin, get well soon!" With a hasty wave, she vanished out of the sight at the end of the hallway where the elevator was.

"Hey thanks, you too." At least that got her off my back, for the moment. Sighing with relief, I slammed the door and let myself collapse back on my bed in a snuffed heap.

Before I fell asleep, though, I suddenly remembered last night—the part about Misa talking on the phone, not the…other thing. I never got around to asking her who she'd been talking to: some guy she wanted to meet after her shoot, that much I'd gathered. But then, would it have been right to ask? I didn't want her to think I'd been spying on her or something, because I wasn't. I just had a horrible habit of walking in on things that I shouldn't.

Who the hell had she planned to meet, anyway? A friend? Another client? It couldn't possibly be a date; Misa was too devoted to Light to even spare a passing glance at other men. Or at least, it'd always seemed that way to me.

"You should never assume that you 'know' people. They can always catch you unawares…" 

In a vain attempt to dull the headache, I squeezed a pillow over my head. Boy, was it swimming. You should never try to figure your roomies' antics out when on meds, or you'll pass out before you can piece together anything worthwhile. Which is exactly what happened to me, right when I started remember that "plan" Misa had been so fired up to carry out, and how crushed she'd seemed when Light had flashed the red light.

She would do anything to please Light, wouldn't she? Hell, she would've probably gone so far as to kill somebody in a New York minute, if Light gave the word…

All I could remember in between that thought and the moment I sprang way the hell up in bed was a huge, dreamless curtain of drug-induced darkness. L might as well have shot me up with enough tranquilizers to bring down a horny bull elephant. I don't know how long I slept like that, but the instant unforgiving light and color poured back into my eyes, it hit me, like a bee sting to the ass.

Oh. My God. She WOULDN'T! 

All of this time later, it never stopped to strike me as funny, how you can not think about things—really think about them, I mean—until it's too late for it to matter. I had an awful habit of doing that. I damn near dropped the laptop onto the floor as I pried it open with trembling hands. That terrible tingly feeling, the one that clued me in on trouble, was coming back, with a vengeance.

"Watari! Watari!" I was yelping before the connection could even be made, but I couldn't help it. Misa had really gone and done it, now! Only God knew how much danger she'd put herself in by messing around with the likes of the Yotsuba men!

Bee-beep. 

"Yes, Elin? What is it?" 

"Watari, thank God! Listen, you gotta warn Ryuzaki and the others: Misa's in danger!"

"I beg your pardon?" 

I threw my arms up in the air. "Misa's in danger, man! You gotta tell the others! I-is she and Mogi still at the shoot? You gotta call him! Tell him not to let her outta his sight, under any circumstances! Not even to use the bathroom!"

"…Forgive me, dear, but I'm having a bit of trouble hearing you. Do you need more medicine for your throat?" 

My throat burned hotter and hotter, like I had acid dribbling down it, the more I fought to raise my voice: "NO, I don't need any dumb medicine! I said Misa's gonna do something stupid, and—and—damn it!"

I slammed the laptop shut on him: a pretty rude thing to do to a guy like Watari, I realize, but I couldn't help it. Misa, that cornflake, was about to do the equivalent of running with a chainsaw—a step up from running with scissors and much more dangerous—and he couldn't hear me trying to warn him about it!

For a moment, I sat on the edge of the bed, combing my frantic fingers through my hair, wondering what the hell I should do. As my gaze drifted towards the door, my fingernails dug into my scalp. I'd have to go down there and tell them myself, wouldn't I?

Oh man, but what about L? I thought about how hell-bent he'd been on keeping me in bed until I got better; I sure didn't want him to come up to do…that, again.

Aw, fuck it all! Every second I wasted debating, the closer the train thundered towards Misa, lying tied down to the tracks squealing like a golden-locked damsel in distress while Namikawa stood back in a top hat, twirling his mustache. Or Ooi, or Takahashi, or Higuchi, or whichever Yotsuba member she'd be meeting. I'd always been criticized for not thinking things over well enough, but when I kept getting caught in dire predicaments like this one, ones that needed fast action, how could I?

Besides, given my reason for dashing out of bed, L would understand. Wouldn't he? God, I hoped so. I didn't hold my breath, though: not the smartest thing to do. Especially when you're speeding down fifteen or so floors, with the flu, no less.

Even so, I had to slump up against the doorway before even going into the monitor room, gasping for sweet, sweet air. The way my jagged breathing echoed to and fro across the vast space of the room, I must've sounded like Darth Vader™, only less sophisticated. I held up a hand to ask them to wait a second.

Everyone present turned to stare at me. "Elin? What're you doing out of bed?" asked Matsuda. I was particularly wary of the look L passed in my direction, even though his expression hadn't exactly changed from the last thousand other times I'd seen it.

I quick made a crucifix sign with my pointer fingers in front of my face. "I know, I know, I said I'd stay in bed. B-but this is an emergency, believe me!" I panted.

"Gosh, Elin, you sound terrible!" said Matsuda. "What's wrong?"

I pushed myself off the doorway and wobbled towards the desk, where everyone was gathered around. "Where's Mogi and Misa?"

"Still out at the movie shoot," said Light.

I propped myself up by an arm on the desk like a crutch. I was never cut out for marathons. Clearing my throat as much as I could until my throat felt raw, I croaked, "Listen, you gotta call Mogi, A-SAP!"

"Right now? Wh-why?" asked Matsuda.

I smashed the heel of my hand into my face. "Please, call him NOW! He can't let Misa out of his sight, under any—"

Bee-beep! 

"Ryuzaki," Watari cut in, "Mogi is on the line." 

L looked up from the third or fourth grainy cup of tea he'd been guzzling down. "Yes?"

Suddenly, Mogi's voice poured out from the speakers. He sounded like he was trying his damnedest to maintain his rock-solid composure, but just from hearing the distant strain in his voice, somehow I knew I was—

"Ryuzaki, I am so sorry. Amane tricked me; I lost her at the hospital." 

…too late.

That had to be one of the best "D'oh!" moments in history, but not in a good way. Looks like I was out for longer than I would've liked… 

While I drew away from the monitor with my face in my hand, everyone else huddled around the monitor. "No way! What the heck could Misa-Misa be up to?" exclaimed Matsuda.

"I think the real question here is what was Mogi doing?" asked Mr. Yagami. I couldn't blame him for wondering that. How does a cornflake idol hoodwink a seasoned detective so easily?

"Understandable. How frustrating it might be for a girl her age to be under constant supervision." Boy, if I hadn't been so racked with guilt and fear for Misa's life, I would've gotten this close to giving old L a power-noogie. "How frustrating for a girl her age," he says—how the hell did he think I felt? I mean, there he is, voicing pity for Misa, a "suspect," when she goes A-WOL, but what do I get when I want to stretch my legs? Restraints! Harassment!

Keep in mind also, this was the same guy who'd had Misa-Misa bound and gagged for almost two months, and to the best of my knowledge, never apologized for it. Paid her off, yeah, but never gave her a formal (and more importantly, sincere) apology.

Just what'd he see me as? Chopped liver? Talk about double-standards. L was the king of double-standards.

"I hope that that's all this is," said Light, suddenly looking tense, "but…hang on, I'll try to call her."

Well, I just clunked my head on the desk. Twice. "Y-you see? That's exactly what I was trying to warn you guys about! I heard Misa talking to somebody on the phone, said something about 'meeting them at the hospital after the shoot,'" I moaned, pointing a weak finger towards the monitor while my other arm shielded my face. "Christ, why didn't I say something, right away?"

I'd failed. Epically. I'd failed as a journalist, and I'd failed as a friend. I was a double-failure. Misa was dog meat, all because I failed so much.

Needless to say, it didn't help that Light closed his cell phone, muttering, "It's no good. She's switched off her phone, the one she promised to always keep on for me."

I clunked my forehead against the desk for the third time. "Please stop that," said L. "That's obnoxious. Not to mention, that can't be good for you." I could say the same thing about your eating habits, buddy. Guy lived out the food fantasy of every kindergartener on the planet.

"This proves it, then. She has gone on a date, with one of the Yotsuba guys. No-ho-ho-hohhh…she's dog meat."

I could just sense every hair on the napes of everyone's necks prickle—except L's, of course. His hair was always prickled, for one. "Yotsuba?" said Mr. Yagami. "She's with one of the members of the Yotsuba Group?"

Matsuda went out of his way to help me onto the couch, timidly patting my shoulder along the way. "I-it's okay. You didn't know. None of us saw this coming. Ryuzaki, what do you suggest we do now?"

The World's Problem-Solver slid a thoughtful finger into his mouth. "I suppose we'll just have to wait until Amane returns from her date."

That had me launching out of my seat, practically scaring the crap out of Matsuda all the way to the other side of the couch. "Wait? We can't wait! Misa's in trouble! Wh-what if she never comes back?"

"I fail to see why you would have a problem with waiting, Miss Crocker. You seem to have had no problems with waiting to tell us about Amane's call."

I zipped it, right then. He sorta got me there. I probably could've said, in my defense, that I was sick, delirious, and drowsy, which was why I hadn't said anything sooner. But in the end, I decided against it. I needed to stop making excuses for myself, no matter how legitimate; L would've picked apart every word I'd said, anyhow. He always did. Besides, my throat felt so itchy, like I'd eaten a poison ivy salad or something.

So I plopped back down on the couch and looked down towards the floor, so no one could see my face burning red as a beacon.

"Perhaps you should go back to bed?" said L.

I shook my head. "I-I can't. I'm sorry, but I gotta see if Misa comes back in one piece, first," I croaked, clearing my throat. "I owe her that much." I couldn't help it! Ever since the Matsuda incident, I found that I couldn't even sleep knowing if anyone on the task force was in danger. This is going to sound wacky, considering the circumstances for my being there at all, but over the months I'd spent with these guys, I'd come to think of them as friends, roomies, maybe even a second family—if somewhat dysfunctional. At least, in the sense that I couldn't bear to have any of them die on me.

In a really backwards sense, that included L, too, I guess. For all of his faults…

Matsuda's grip on my shoulder tightened. "Don't worry, Elin. I'm—I'm sure Misa-Misa's okay," he tried to assure me, but by the stammer in his voice, I could tell that he was as insecure about her safety as I was. I don't know, maybe we were putting too little faith in the girl? If she could escape Mogi's supervision to go on a "date," maybe she honestly knew what she was doing?

But come on! This was Yotsuba we were talking about. Kira was one of them. One teeny-weeny slip-up by Misa, and...

I leaned into him for comfort.

…

Our praying for the best paid off. A torturous hour and a half, maybe two hours later, Misa came charging through the doors as soon as Mogi opened them for her, in one piece, waving her arms over her head like a triumphant hero…in a flattering nurse's uniform, no less.

Naturally, she was running in Light's direction, but I sort of got up as a blockade. I was so happy to see her alive, I could've hugged her! I tried to, too, except Misa hastily sidestepped me before I could throw my arms around her, so I wound up stumbling dazed in a random-ass direction until Matsuda caught me.

That got me kind of sore, for a second there. "Oh, yeah? Well, you smell like corruption and cheap cologne, anyhow," I grumbled. "I'm knocked out with the flu, here, and I can smell it."

"Sorry Elin, but you still have the flu-bug," Misa insisted before quickly diverting her attention to Light and the others. "Light, Light, you won't believe what Misa brought back! Higuchi is Kira, Light! Misa has proof! Gee, who knew that cell phones could be so useful?" Fishing her cell phone out of her dress pocket, she pressed a button and held it out at arm's length like a mystic treasure she'd just swiped out of an Inca temple choked with booby traps, deadly rolling boulder included.

In a way, it was. Higuchi's sleazeball voice echoed across the room, a conceited declaration that made us freeze dead in place:

"...I'm Kira, so in order to make you trust me and prove that I'm him, I'll stop killing criminals for the time being. Then once you're fully convinced that I'm the real thing, you and I can get married." 

No one said a word, each and every one of us thunderstruck by the same bolt. But boy, was Misa glowing! "So, based on what he said…Higuchi is Kira!" She beamed, striking a "V" for victory.

"Now we not only know Kira's identity, but all of those deaths that were worrying the Chief are gonna stop! That's amazing, Misa-Misa!" gushed Matsuda, the first one to get his voice back. No kidding. Girl wasn't even a journalist, but she could've made a hell of a better one than I ever could, as she clearly demonstrated with this little escapade of hers. Shameful.

In a way, it wasn't that surprising that an old dirty bastard like Higuchi could turn out to be Kira, or at least, the new Kira. Well, it was certainly no minor detail; I'm not saying that. I mean, what I found even more of a shocker was how a crazy serial killer could be duped into telling a young girl who he was without getting all, "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

Surprisingly, L didn't have any comments on the whole deal, at first. He just sat there in his swivel chair, slurping down more tea that he let get cold. I knew better than to dismiss it as strict absent-mindedness, though. The more absent-minded he'd look, the more he was actually thinking, calculating, plotting. Or that brain of his wouldn't have made him drop eight or ten sugar cubes into his cup before stirring them in.

Light wound up beating me to the chase when he asked Misa, "How did you get Higuchi to confess?" He didn't sound too proud of her for her accomplishment. I mean, not as impressed as I would've thought he'd be.

Misa scoffed, "Easy. Higuchi's totally in love with Misa! All I had to do was tell him I'd marry him if he was really Kira. Plus, Misa managed to convince them that she is the Second Kira."

Who in the where and the WHAT? 

Light didn't take that very well, either. "Misa! You idiot! Didn't I tell you to deny all that? You were supposed to just say that you were arrested by mistake!"

Misa seemed to shrink a little, like a dog tucking her tail between her legs after getting spanked with a rolled-up newspaper. "B-but now we know that Higuchi is Kira, right? So, what's the problem? Can't we just catch him?" she asked, defending herself with a slight whimper. I felt pretty sorry for her, all of a sudden. Go figure: somebody on the team decides to take a little initiative, and no one else likes it. I could understand how Light was just concerned for her safety—I sure know I was—but still…

"It's never that simple," said Light. "If he tells the other seven that they should stop killing to get the Second Kira on their side, then there are go our chances of catching Kira...wait. If he does that, couldn't we always confirm that he did with Namikawa?"

"Yes. If Higuchi is Kira, it's more likely that he'll stop the killings without telling anyone," said L. "Again, we could use Namikawa to confirm this."

Namikawa? The real regal guy? What did he have to do with anything? Had the guys "negotiated" with him or something when he wasn't with the Yotsuba Council of Doom? Was he a mole for us, now?

"But how can we be sure that Namikawa wouldn't lie to us?" pressed Mr. Yagami.

"If we told him that Higuchi was Kira, I think he'd have to side with L and tell the truth," said Light. "Either way, if the killings do stop, then Higuchi must have Kira's power, after all..."

In the meantime, Watari walked in rolling a cart piled high with treats organized like a pyramid of plates to place beside L. As L helped himself to a morsel, he held it up to his brow like a looking glass and said, "I suppose that this is what you would call a victory, right, Matsuda?"

Matsuda just tittered, clenching his fists at his sides in order to keep from twiddling his thumbs. Go figure, again: no matter what Matsuda did for the team, they would always pick on him.

While I tried to melt off L's head by glaring at the back of it with my imaginary laser vision, I almost found the guts to tell him to back off, when Light cut me off: "But right now, we still don't know how he kills his victims, do we?"

L placed three frosted cookies of different colors in a triangle-shape on the desk. He had a knack of playing with his food before getting to eating it. He sure liked to toy with a lot of things. "Yes, that's exactly what I was thinking. Before we move to arrest Higuchi…"

He flicked one cookie like a hockey puck, sending the other two sliding in random directions across his immediate vicinity of the desk. Some wild animals like to play with their food before digging in. "I want to find out how he kills people."

"If the criminals stop dying, we won't be able to figure it out," said Light, "unless we come up with another plan. Isn't that right? What should we do? At this rate, Misa might be killed."

Just then, curiosity struck me. "Hey, Misa," I croaked, "how did you do that?"

"Huh? How did I do what?"

I stepped a little closer so she could hear me. "How the hell did you convince Higuchi that you were the Second Kira? He sounds pretty dumb, but not dumb enough to just believe whatever you say without some kind of proof."

For some reason, Misa got slightly more flustered, all of a sudden. As if Light's announcement that she could be killed hadn't shaken her up enough. She pressed a finger up by her bottom lip. "Uh…well…I told him that I could kill people. I said that the first guy to show me proof that he is Kira to Misa will have the honor of marrying Misa. I said I looked up to Kira and stroked his ego and stuff, so I got this recording."

Jesus Christ. Either Misa was holding out on us about how she really convinced him, or Higuchi really was that stupid. At the time, I couldn't see why Misa wouldn't tell us the whole truth, so…

"Then if criminals stop dying, you will have to kill people, or else things will look bad for you," said L. "Misa, can you kill?"

"O-of course not! But Higuchi just wants to marry Misa, so he wouldn't kill her."

"No, marriage to you isn't his first priority," said Light. "If he finds out that you really aren't the Second Kira, he'll kill you without hesitation."

In spite of herself, Misa cracked a loving smile. "Oh Light, you're not jealous, are you? You should know better: the only one Misa would ever marry is you!"

Light turned back to L. "We can't just be talking about killing methods. We have to capture Higuchi, for Misa's sake. She did this to help us, so we don't have a choice. We might still have a chance to discover how he kills after we catch him." Boy, did Misa look touched. In a way, so was I. This had to be the closest I'd ever seen Light act like a proper boyfriend.

Suddenly losing interest in the treats on the desk, L pinched a chunk of cake topped with strawberries, kiwis and other juicy fruits, holding it up to his face like a pair of binoculars. "Yes. At any rate, even if we do arrest Higuchi, we're not going to do it until we're certain that criminals have stopped dying. Let me think about this, for a moment…"

Exactly one moment later, he made a call, first to Watari, to reach...

"Wedy?"

Beep. This time, another Cloister Black "W" appeared on the screen, only lowercase, to differentiate from Watari. "Yeah?" 

"An update on the current situation, please."

"Everything's going smoothly. We should be able to track seventy percent of their movements using our cameras inside the office building." 

"What about outside the office?"

"That's not going to be possible with just Watari and me." 

"What if you focus solely on Higuchi?"

"Higuchi? I've only been able to enter the houses of five of the men, so far. But Mido, Namikawa and Higuchi all have super high-tech security systems, especially Higuchi. He recently constructed a dampening room that shuts out any electronic waves. Took me two days just to break into the place. We can't directly transmit pictures or sounds from that room, but if you want, we can sneak in and bug the place, then come back later to get the bugs, see what they recorded." 

I didn't know half of what Wedy was prattling about, but I did gather this much: this Higuchi character sounded awfully shady to have one of those whatchamacallits at his place. I would've thought he was guarding a secret stash of loot or something. A faint tingle—either my "journalist senses" or plain anxiety, I didn't know—curled my toes and fingers.

"This guy sure does sound suspicious," muttered Matsuda.

L ordered, "All right: then begin installing microphones, trackers and cameras, but not in the house. Instead, just put them in every car."

While he finished up the last couple chunks of his fruit-cake and immediately reached over for an éclair, Wedy suddenly sounded pretty sore: "What? After getting this far? Do you know how difficult it is to break into someone's house? Besides, do you have any idea of how many cars this guy has?" 

"He has six," L answered with his jaws full.

Seeing that she couldn't argue with him—like anyone could—Wedy conceded. "Fine, then. I just have to install them in all of his cars, right?" Funny, how she liked to point it out when the job was too easy for her, but she also had to bitch when she had to do a little extra work. But then, what did I know about hacking? Nothing. For all I knew, it could've been much harder than the movies had ever let on.

L sucked the custard off of each of his individual fingers. "Yes, thank you," he gulped.

I went straight for the monitor. "And don't be smoking or anything while you're at it," I coughed behind L. "You might leave ashes or something."

"What was that?" 

Surprisingly, L stepped in to clarify, probably so I'd go away. "Miss Crocker has asked you to be careful not to smoke during your mission."

"Tell her thanks. I'll keep that in the forefront of my mind." The sarcasm in her voice didn't make her words sound too convincing. Although, that is kind of a dumb thing to ask from a professional like Wedy. I'm not really sure why I said that. I'd asked her politely in the past to at least take her smokes outside, which she had done (after watching me make a laugh of myself about the issue). But something in me still wanted to go the whole mile and make her stop altogether, no matter how many times she'd snubbed me.

Slightly satisfied, I scooted back to Matsuda's side and shot a random glance towards Misa's direction. She looked on the verge of breaking out into a sweat. I didn't blame her, really. After getting chewed out like that, I'd be pretty flustered, myself. She did look a bit more flustered than most people normally would, though...maybe she was still recovering from having Light call her an idiot?

She picked that exact moment to blurt out with her tensest smile, "Okay! Then maybe when Misa meets Higuchi again, she should ask him how he kills people?"

Light shut her down in a New York minute. "No! If you asked something like that, he'll know that you're not the Second Kira and kill you! That's enough, Misa; don't do any more!"

After polishing off that éclair, L gathered a couple of tiny chocolate cups with nougat and almonds packed inside into his open hand, holding one out in front of him. "That's true. If Higuchi meets Misa again after the criminals stop dying, he will most likely ask her to kill someone. We should create a situation where he is forced to kill someone right in front of us."

"Any ideas, Ryuzaki?" asked Light.

L didn't say a word, at first; just stared into his chocolate like he were looking into one of those fancy divining crystals. I didn't know why, but my toes started to wiggle in apprehension over what he was fixing to say.

Until…

"Light, let me apologize for coming back to this topic…I'll just get right to the point…"

"What is it?" Light sounded about as apprehensive as I felt, maybe even more, considering how he was the one being asked.

He looked over his shoulder towards his handcuff-mate, thoughtful as he could ever be. "Do you remember? Killing anyone, I mean?"

Man, did Light hit the ceiling! I found it a miracle that he didn't sock L in the jaw for asking such a thing. Nevertheless, I sort of braced myself, the higher Light raised his voice: "You're still going on about that? Look, I'm not Kira! How many times do I have to—"

"I just want you to answer the question," said L calmly. "Well? Do you remember?"

Light answered with a cold, hard glare and a terse, "No, I don't." Of course, he wouldn't remember. I remembered those guys talking about it months ago…before the hair had started flying. I kept waiting for the mutual ass-whooping to start again so I could duck under the couch when it did. Had an evacuation plan drummed up and everything.

"Misa, what about you?"

Misa was just as adamant. "I don't remember! How could I? 'Cause I'm not Kira!"

L popped a chocolate into his mouth. "Look, Light, please listen to what I'm about to say. I'd like you to analyze my current theory. This could determine the way in which we catch Kira."

Light didn't look any more accepting, but kept quiet, for the time being. To humor him.

"Light Yagami used to be Kira. Kira's power has somehow passed on to another person. Light Yagami has no memory of ever being Kira. I need your analysis based on these assumptions. Do you think you can do that for me?"

Light exhaled through his nostrils. "Yeah," he muttered. "I'll give it a try."

I swear, I thought I could feel the ground trembling underneath my feet, under the force of the combined intellect of both boys. I had to cling on to the fabric of Matsuda's sleeve just to keep from losing my footing.

"Light Yagami used to be Kira. Kira's power has somehow passed on to another person," L echoed. "Was that because Light Yagami wanted it to happen? Or was there someone else in control of Light, lurking in the background, who gave him the power? Was it that person who passed Light's powers on to someone else?" By the way he clenched the candies in his hand, and the way the tendons in his feet tightened, I could tell how deeply he was getting into this. In his own icicle way, the guy could get pretty passionate, at least, about case-related ideas.

Still, what a lousy way to talk to someone you were working with, calling him a suspect and all, even hypothetically. All those months later, he still wouldn't let it go. At that point, I'd practically given up on hoping he'd ever let it go. Even if it strained his friendship with Light to the umpteenth power. For that matter, how would it affect the case? Would it ever come to a real close if he kept calling Light a prime suspect, even without solid evidence?

It all came down to what Light made of it all, as he briefly shut his eyes, as though blocking out his surroundings in order to focus.

I think everyone present must've held their breath when Light finally looked up again. I know I did.

"Given your premise…it would be my will," he answered lowly.

Say WHAAAT? Okay, somebody needed to explain that to me, seriously; how the hell could Light say something like that if he'd have no memory of ever being Kira? And so confidently, at that?

The entire room fell into a lethal silence for a minute more, as L opened his hand to contemplate the crushed bits of chocolate, nougat and almond in his palm.

"Yes, of course. If there is a third party that has the ability to bestow or transfer Kira's power, and they didn't want their method to be discovered, it makes no sense that they would wait so long to transfer it from you to the next Kira. If we believe that this was the work of some being watching us from above, then we'd have to accept that they are impossible to catch. Not to mention, I'd already be dead, or at the very least, I'm being made to be a fool by eternally dancing in the palm of someone's hand."

Huh. Coming from L, that last part sounded mildly poetic. Guy could be kind of poetic, when he felt like it, in a dull, cut-and-dried kind of way. "It's highly unlikely that such a being exists," he continued, tossing the crushed candy down the hatch, almost like tablets. "Even if Light Yagami was Kira…the power can only be transferred by the will of the person who possesses it." He turned back to Light. "Thank you, Light. I can now say that I feel ninety-nine percent better."

Well, at least somebody was getting their spirits back up. I, on the other hand, suddenly felt in desperate need for an aspirin. For a second there, I thought this case was going to take some kind of fucked up paranormal twist or something that no one in their right mind would ever see coming.

Watari popped back into the room again with another plate of tastefully decorated treats for L before clearing away the tea set. Lifting a dazed finger, I opened my mouth to ask for some happy pills while he was at it, when L cut me off. I was always getting cut off with those guys.

Slipping the tip of his index finger into his mouth, L eyed the fresh batch of treats. "We will create a situation where Higuchi will not be able to pass the power on to anyone else. We'll have him show us how he kills."

On the other hand, asking for an aspirin probably would've made me look dumb, dumber than I no doubt already looked. I knew that all of this baffled the hell out of Matsuda, but he wasn't asking for any aspirin.

"So, what are you going to do?" Light asked before I could. I was too dizzy to even try.

"I'm going to trick Higuchi using Sakura TV."

Matsuda chimed in, "Like a hidden camera show!"

"What?" asked Misa. My sentiments, exactly. What? 

"We'll use the Kira special that Demegawa airs every week. We'll book a three-hour time slot. It will be announced that Kira's identity will be revealed near the end of the special."

Matsuda drew back with a doubtful frown. "Would anyone even buy it? This is Sakura TV, after all. Higuchi might not even watch that program, for all we know."

L picked up a treat from the plate. Making quick work of it, he poked each treat individually until he found one that would satisfy his capricious tastes.

Light had an idea to pacify us: "Exactly. No one would buy it...that is, if they didn't know the truth. The program is such bogus, not even the Ministry of Telecommunications would bother to interfere. That's why Ryuzaki suggested that we use it."

"Yes, that's correct."

Light added, "As for Higuchi himself, we can get Namikawa to call him and say, 'This is bad. Turn on your TV.' That should be enough to get him watching. Higuchi will realize at once that the special guest on TV is someone who knows his secret."

"Then what? He tries to go out and whack the guy who's ratting him out before he gets to?" I asked, already not liking the sound of this.

Matsuda grinned in understanding I still didn't have. "Oh, I get it! So we'll be using Aiber, then! He'll reveal that he was a spy, all along!" It wasn't like Higuchi could get Aiber's name—not that anyone could—so he'd be safe, right? Not a half-bad idea, I thought.

That is, until L came in to do one of the things he did best: prick our bubbles. "No, I'm afraid you're incorrect. We will not be using Aiber." He opened his mouth as wide as he could before dropping the second treat down the hatch. I'm telling you, the guy could dislocate his jaw, if he felt like it. "If it's 'Eraldo Coil' doing this, it will limit Higuchi's options. Whoever appears on the show," he mumbled in mid-chew, "has to be someone who he believes he'll be able to kill."

Well, now I was definitely lost. If Aiber wasn't going to do it, and there was no way we'd have Misa do it, then who would—?

"In other words, it has to be someone…whose name, he can look up easily."

"But we're never gonna find someone like that, are we?" asked Matsuda, naïve as ever. I really didn't like the way everyone in the room was looking at him, all of a sudden.

That's when it hit me. Like a bowling ball scoring a turkey.

Oh, no. 

Oh God, no, they WOULDN'T! How could they...?

"Higuchi probably thinks that you were listening in on their meeting and overheard their plans to kill people. It would make sense that Misa's manager, who he thought was dead, is the one revealing his secret," said Light. Boy, you should've seen Matsuda's face when he realized what they were driving at; he looked like his stones had ducked back into his abdomen.

L held up a pink marshmallow-like treat with a bunny face painted on it up to his brow, squeezing the poor thing between his fingers in serious contemplation. Once he got an idea that he liked, nothing could persuade him otherwise. Just for that, I wrestled with the urge to knock Light's...well, lights out, for encouraging him. I had to squeeze my wrist to keep my fist from flying!

As if Matsuda had already agreed to do it—he was always talking to people like they'd already agreed to participate in his crackpot schemes—L said, "That's right. We'll have Sakura TV use a voice filter and frosted glass to protect your identity. Higuchi will probably realize from the announcement and the silhouette that it's the manager, Taro Matsui. And just to make sure, we'll have the studio 'mess up' and 'accidentally' reveal your face from behind the frosted glass."

"Wow!" squealed Misa. "Sounds exciting!" Exciting? He might as well have been drawing up the route to take Matsuda to his execution by! And by the way the poor guy tried so hard to stay calm with every word L said while pellets of sweat trickled down his face…that just killed me. Not in the good way, either. The floor suddenly became too hot to stand on, like a giant bed of burning coals under my feet.

Mr. Yagami and Mogi didn't look pleased about this, either, but what could they do except keep asking questions to ease their own doubts? "But even if he does bite, how do we know he'll go out of his own way and not send someone else to do the dirty work? And what about the others?"

"The other seven will only be mentioned by their initials, and we'll say that they were victims, as well. This way, we can ensure that Higuchi will be the only one who will react to this. Also, it's not likely he'll send someone else in his stead, since that would cost too much time, not to mention look suspicious," Light explained.

"Until the show ends, the announcer will keep saying they'll reveal the full name of 'H,' who is acting as Kira," said L.

"Higuchi would feel cornered," enforced Light; oh God, why couldn't these two shut the hell up already! Someone please clonk these Stooges' heads together! "He'd have no choice but to find the manager's name, as soon as possible. We can anticipate what actions he'll take."

Having taken a nibble out of the bunny-shaped treat, L went right back to squeezing it. "We'll witness his killing method. After that, we arrest him."

Then, to really drive the screwdriver in my chest, he said, "There is one potential problem with this plan." He held the treat up over his head, not even having the courtesy to look back at Matsuda, or anyone, for that matter. "If Higuchi can kill simply by looking at someone's face, like the Second Kira…"

The sound of filling oozing out of the marshmallow made me flinch something awful. It sounded like that disgusting fleshy clunk I'd heard when Matsuda had faked his death by jumping off the balcony. A noise that I never wanted to hear again.

"…Matsuda will die."

How the hell could he say that so casually, like Matsuda was expendable?

Matsuda's jaw practically dropped clean off of its hinges. Turning almost as pale as even L, he looked about ready to have an aneurysm. Well, that did it for me.

Storming in front of Matsuda, I let L have it: "You wouldn't dare! He got too close to being done for, last time! Now y-you're gonna make him go up on TV knowing that he could fucking die? For REAL? NO, you can't! I—I won't let you! Please guys, there's gotta be another way!" I might as well have been pissing in the wind. It didn't help that I couldn't scream at him like I desperately wanted to. It seemed that the more I tried raising my voice, the sorer my throat got, the weaker my voice grew, like my words didn't matter. They didn't, either.

It sure didn't help when my eyes started burning with fresh tears.

"Calm down, Elin," said Light. "Considering that Matsuda's still alive, and how Higuchi's pursuing Misa, I doubt he could kill him that easily, as Ryuzaki suggested."

Mr. Yagami looked at us both, as though trying to come up with something to do that would make this situation better. The way a good boss, or even a parent, might look when they want to give comfort, but isn't sure how to go about it. After all, hugs aren't the answer to everything, right?

Then he lifted his head, as though remembering something. "Well, if Matsuda can't do this, maybe I can go in his stead? I've considered arranging a press release about Kira with Sakura TV, myself. I can go on and—"

"Dad, wait. We've already talked about this. Don't risk your life when it's unnecessary."

I groaned, "When I said 'another way,' I meant a way that doesn't involve having any of you bite the bullet."

"At any rate, we're only going to do this once criminals stop dying," said L, seemingly unmoved by my pleas. Naturally. "We'll have to wait two or three days to see if that happens. In the meantime, Matsuda will have to decide if he wants to go through with this plan."

Oh, now he was giving Matsuda a choice, this time? How noble of him. Especially for him. Not that I didn't appreciate that, but it sure didn't help me feel any damn better. Why?

Well, when I turned back towards Matsuda, his expression had changed. A determined glint smothered the fear that had previously clouded his eyes. To my dismay, I saw him step forward, like a soldier, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, in anxiety, for sure, but not in cowardice.

"I don't need two or three days to decide," he said with a kind of resolve I couldn't remember hearing out of him before. "Please, let me do this."

"Matsu…"

I whirled around and clutched him by the shoulders. "C-come on, Matsu, don't you w-wanna, I dunno, think about this for a little longer?" I whimpered. "I said not to th-throw yourself in front of the...y-you'll be dog meat, if Higuchi can..."

He looked down at me, his face softening a little, but his eyes didn't lose that unwavering focus. The kind of genuine courage that I could only wish that I had. "I don't need to, Elin. I want to do this. I'm the only one who can do it. Sure, I…might die, but there's also the chance that I won't. I'll have to expect the worst, but I'm hoping for the best, too. Whatever it takes to bring Higuchi to justice…"

That just about broke my heart. Matsuda, the team's underdog, my fellow rookie, had always wanted to be a hero. Now here was opportunity, handing him the chance to do that on a silver platter. What kind of moron would he be to turn it down?

…

What kind of moron would I be to try to stop him? After all, I did say that he would get his chance, someday. Didn't I?

In a way, I felt so sorry I had ever said it. But in another way, I didn't. I don't know, I couldn't quite explain my feelings.

In resignation, my eyes drifted down from his face to his tie. My clutch on his shoulders crumpled into a vise-like hug as I buried my face into the fabric of his suit, so no one could see it, and to quell the sobs that erupted out of my throat. Christ, I couldn't remember another time in my life when I looked more pathetic, but I couldn't help it. I felt so goddamn helpless, like a baby, maybe even more than that. Here was Matsuda taking the great leap over the building that separated the rookies from the heroes, while I couldn't even stop Misa from going on a stupid date with that sonofabitch Higuchi. Why, when I thought about it, even Misa had more courage than I did.

Most of all, though, there was nothing I could do to change his mind. Nor would it have been right to make the effort.

Matsuda tensed up for a minute or two.

"Go," I wheezed. "Go on, Matsui. C-crack his n-n-nuts..."

Slowly, he returned the hug, muttering, "I will. You can count on it. It's okay, it's okay…"

What else could he say?


	18. Embrace

I gave the boys credit for not carrying out the plan, right away. Just to see if Higuchi would stop killing criminals like he'd told Misa that he would—which he did, the pigeon—we waited three days. That gave us three days to iron out the bugs, get all our actors together and rehearse, and me three days' worth of quality time with Matsuda. Since he was the star, it wasn't much; no way would I let it go to waste.

In the back of my mind, though, I kept hoping, praying that he'd change his mind sometime in between. He never did, of course, and I never chided him for it. In fact, I was too afraid to even talk about it to him, because if we mentioned even a word about the deadly mission that he was about to embark on, I might've broken down in a snap. I think Matsuda knew that, too, so he didn't push it, either. But I could tell that he was just as scared as I was, if not more. God, it killed me to see him try to hide it, like he somehow felt obligated to keep a strong composure, for my sake.

He sure did a better job hiding it than I did. Whenever my mind drifted towards the future, I'd lock my arm around his neck to noogie out my anxiety all over the top of his head.

Even so, that didn't stop me from turning around to heckle the masterminds behind the whole scheme—namely, L and Light. I never tried to change Matsuda's mind, but that didn't mean I'd stopped worrying about it. In fact, the night before this was all supposed to go down, I came in to the monitor room, my legs stiff and mind racing. Boy, was I sweating bullets, and not just because of the flu.

Light noticed me first, not looking too happy to see me. At the frequency I kept coming in to bother them, I didn't blame him. Even Misa hadn't dropped in nearly as much as I'd been. "What is it, Elin?"

I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out. I sort of just kept it hanging open like a dumb trout, throat as arid as my brain was. L swung his weight to spin the chair around to face me, stretching out an arm to cup a cold hand on the back of my clammy neck.

I flinched under the shiver that rippled through me under his touch. "Ngh! Whoa, whoa, what'cha trying to do, kid?" I guess no one ever taught him that you shouldn't go around touching the backs of people's necks all willy-nilly. Keep in mind that this was also a guy who didn't like physical contact. Normal physical contact, at least.

L withdrew his hand, unperturbed. "You seem to be running a particularly high fever."

I shook my head like a rattle. "N-no, it's not a fever! I'm getting over my flu, right now, actually. I-it's just that…uh…er…"

What could I tell him, that I was cha-cha-ing on the borderline between sanity and a full-blown panic attack? I didn't think so.

L decided to fill in: "Yes, Miss Crocker, there is a slim chance that Matsuda will die tomorrow night when we carry out the plan. There's no need to keep beleaguering us about it." I wasn't sure whether to feel grateful or not for his talking over me.

Couldn't say that "a slim chance" cut it, either. Those two yahoos—L and Light—were always so confident that their schemes would work out exactly as planned. Which, I will admit, was way more than what I could say for myself, and their schemes had pretty much always worked so far and all, but…

Oh man, I didn't even want to think about everything that could go wrong. I was afraid that if I did, it would happen. My head picked that exact moment to project a shot of Matsuda plummeting helplessly off of that balcony, like an old clip in black and white. I had to squeeze my eyes shut to turn it off, to force back the swell of unnecessary tears that threatened to rise up.

"Can't say that a 'slim chance' cuts it, Ryuzaki. Make it no chance that he'll die; then we'll be getting somewhere."

"You know we can't guarantee that," said Light. "That wouldn't be realistic."

Hastily rubbing my eyes clear, I fired him a dirty look. "Aren't you the one who told me to 'relax?'" Adjusting my voice to a squeakier, more mocking tone, I echoed, "'Considering that Matsuda's still alive, how Higuchi's pursuing Misa, I doubt he could kill him.'" I was flapping my fingers and everything. God, could I be a snot when I felt like it. Then again, those two could be even bigger snots.

Well, maybe not Light so much, but L, definitely.

Not that it really justified my attitude, huh?

Light took a deep, mildly annoyed breath. "You seem to have misunderstood me. Yes, I did say that. But I only said that I doubted Higuchi could kill Matsuda. I never said there'd be no way at all that he could."

I pointed at him like I were pointing a gun at his head. "And why would you doubt yourself, Mr. Semantics? Huh? You secretly think that Higuchi could somehow, fr-from out of the blue, just magically get the power to k-k-kill Matsuda from just seeing his face, o-or something? Is that what you're driving at?" I didn't really know what I was saying, to be honest. Lately, I hadn't known half of anything I'd said.

Once I replayed the words in my head, however, I quickly jerked away until I was facing way the hell in the other direction, so neither of them could see me losing it.

Don't say that! If you say things like that, they might happen! 

Of course, no way in my right mind could I come up with a practical scenario where Higuchi could get the power to kill with only a face, like the elusive Second Kira could supposedly do. Jeez, I still couldn't even come up with a scenario where anyone could get the power to kill at all without being there, with only needing a name and a face. But did that make me feel better? Hell no, it didn't. Actually, I think it made me feel worse, not having an answer.

So what? All I could do was watch things unravel, then? Just, watch?

…

Not like I had a choice, or even a say. I virtually never did. I would've thought I'd gotten used to that by that point, but I didn't. The only way anyone can get used to being helpless is when they manage to stop being helpless. In all honesty, where was my chance to do that in the scheme of things?

I could hear Light's tone softening a little from behind me. "I never said anything like that, Elin. Stop putting words in my mouth. Come on…there's no need to cry."

Every hair on every square inch of my skin prickled. "Shuddup, I'm not crying!" I blurted—mostly to keep my voice from shaking too much—as I shielded my crumbling face in my forearm so neither of them could see. Why was it that the more I fought to keep cool, the more I fell apart? I thought all of this PS would've conditioned me or something…but it didn't.

Damn, Erin, you're gonna make a sucky journalist when—if—when you ever get out of here. I decided to go with "when." I didn't even want to think about "if." "If" held no guarantees, made no promises, left everything helter-skelter and beyond my control. I was starting to get kind of sick of "if," to be honest; how could you pack so much pain and evil into two puny letters?

On the other hand…you can't spell "Life" without "if," can you?

"This is sorta your fault, you know, Light."

"My fault? What is my fault, exactly?"

"Y-you just had to encourage him." Kind of a childish thing to say, but you couldn't tell me it wasn't true. Light had encouraged L to go through with this dumb plan, however indirectly, and Matsuda too, to an extent, even less directly. At any rate, that was all I said on that. What else could I say?

I felt my neck sink deeper in its place until it felt almost like my head was directly attached to my shoulders, like a crude character with stick-hair drawn by a preschooler. I felt glued right to the very tile I stood on; unable to argue with them as eloquently as they could argue, but unable to hightail it like the weenie in me itched to do.

I was starting to contemplate kicking off my shoes just to get away, when I heard L say my alias: "Elin?"

For the sake of literally saving face, I only turned my head halfway, just enough to see him hold something out to me at arm's length. Another napkin, pinched between his fingers.

Gah, he's doing it, again. Lately, I'd found myself in this exact situation quite a bit: the same old dissonance. Was he honestly trying to be nice to me, or did he just like toying with me? All those months later, I still couldn't figure him out. Just when I'd get close to establishing what a bastard he was, he'd offer me a napkin or something. Just when I'd get close to establishing that he could be a good guy, he'd cut me down. Kind of like placing his coat over a mud puddle—provided that he actually wore a coat—for me to walk over so I wouldn't muck up my shoes, then turning right around to yank it out from under my feet.

Like he didn't want to be figured out. Like the possibility of somebody having a fixed opinion on him terrified—no. L never got "terrified." I'd never seen him, anyway. Let's go with "peeved." Yeah, it peeved him to no end. So now he had to peeve me to no end.

Countless times, I'd thought about downright confronting him about that. Naturally, I never did. Because I was too yellow. He wouldn't have given me a straight answer, anyway. This particular moment was no exception. Rather, I debated more with whether or not to accept his offering. If I did, the PS, this game, would no doubt continue (if I could call it a "game;" I had no other name for it).

If I didn't…well, I'd just look plain rude and bratty, especially in front of Light. I'd been criticized for being rude, and yeah, maybe I did act that way now and then. But I, for one, didn't think of myself as a generally mean girl…at least, I'd never meant to be. I was just a lousy communicator. In fact, I could say that I sounded better on paper than face-to-face. No joke. Some people write better than they speak, if that's possible. I don't know if that was because of the lack of being face-to-face in writing or something, but either way, it's not too good, if you want to be a journalist.

Eventually, the rest of my body turned. My hand wound up reaching for his offering before my brain had even made the decision. I didn't use it, though, not in front of them. That much, I figured I could do without making a total ijit out of myself. So, I just let the napkin dangle at my side.

L stayed in his monkey-crouch, hands now cupped over his knees as he stared intently at me. I didn't even have to look back at him to know that he was; I could just feel him staring. I didn't really want to look up, either. Instead, I kept my eyes fixed on the stark whiteness of his shirt as he told me, "As Light said, we cannot guarantee that there is absolutely no chance that Matsuda will die. However, we can say that the actual probability of such is an estimated three percent."

Like that was supposed to make me feel better. On the other hand…three percent? That was about three percents away from zero, right? I mean, three percent…that meant Matsuda still had a ninety-seven percent chance of survival? Oh, L: you and your screwy percentages. Sometimes I couldn't help but wonder if when you said "five percent," you meant "over nine thousaaaaand!"

No, I wasn't at all crazy about three percent, but it looked like I'd have to accept it, outwardly, at least. As much as I hated redundancy, how much of a say did I have in this? In anything? 

Just for that, I felt my hands clench into fists. Clearing my throat until it felt good and raw, I growled, "Light, Ryuzaki, I—I swear to God, if…if something happens to Matsu—"

"Three percent, Elin. Don't forget: three percent."

Translation: "Get off my back, already, woman."

Light added, "Elin, I think you should go back to bed. Maybe you're getting better, but you haven't made a complete recovery, yet."

Translation: "Yeah, get off our backs."

Boy, if I wasn't so yellow, I would've worked up half the nerve to clunk their heads together. To be honest, in a way, I felt vaguely relieved that L had talked over me. I didn't really even know what I'd do to them, if something happened to Matsuda, but by the way my insides felt like crumbling, my best guess was that it would be something god-awful. But what's so threatening about, "I'll do something awful?"

In a way, I was lucky to have not had the chance to threaten them. You should never make threats that you wouldn't—couldn't—go through with, anyway, especially not to guys who would probably hold you accountable to it.

By this point, L had gone back to chowing down on some sweet rice patties wrapped in frilly paper, or ohagi, as they call them. Like with everything else, he had a weird-ass way of eating them: to keep his hands from getting dirty, rather than take the cakes out of the paper, he'd just put the entire thing in his mouth, paper and all, then spit out the paper in a sticky, crummy, spit-soaked wad, his tongue hanging out like a giraffe's when it's about to clean the back of its ears. Each chew, each tongue-roll was accompanied with a loud, unappealing grunt or slurp.

Man, who taught this kid his table manners?

To call it annoying was an understatement, but somehow Light, who had to put up with it even more than the rest of us, had managed to build up a tolerance toward it and keep working. That was just the kind of guy he was.

Blinking back tears, I had to settle for the old "I'm-watching-you" gesture: two fingers to my eyes, then to them, one wiggling finger for each of them, the toughest stance I could take. As I started shuffling backwards across the room towards the exit, I kept my fingers pointed at them, the entire time with my stiffest poker face. After all, I really could keep an eye on them. That much, I could promise.

That is, until I somehow veered off-course and the back of my head thumped against the wall, which wiped off my poker face immediately. After about five painful seconds of spasms and breathless cursing, I finally got it back together. At least, enough to resume my stance as I slunk out the door. Even when I sidled around the corner, I still wiggled my fingers out at them, for good measure.

I got my cue to cut it out when I heard Light sigh, "Okay, Elin, we get it. You're watching us; that's fine. Please, just go to bed."

"Good-night, Elin," murmured L. Their final kiss-off for the night.

I mumbled an obligatory "G'night" back at them before starting the trek back to my floor. Only when I got to my room and slipped under the covers—out of the view of the surveillance cameras—did the napkin start dabbing the wet sting out of my eyes. God, it sucked to never be taken seriously! I couldn't begin to describe how much it sucked. All right, maybe that was partly my fault for horsing around so much, even though I only did it when I felt uneasy. Except, it seemed that I always felt uneasy. Now, even when I wasn't horsing around, it still looked like I was.

…

I suddenly remembered something I wished I'd remembered sooner, something that must've bled me redder with shame than I could ever appear to be on a screen. Hadn't L said something about having infrared cameras, too, once?

…

I made sure to be there in the monitor room with the others when the big night finally rolled around. Nothing they could say could make me turn back. Not when Matsuda needed me the most. I would've given him a noogie for good luck, but since he was going up on TV and all, I didn't want to mess up his hair. I settled for a grin and a firm handshake. Boy, I damn near dislocated his arm, or at the very minimum, snapped all of his fingers.

"Er, thank you, Elin," smiled Matsuda, squinting as hard as he could so I couldn't see him wincing. He sure did a better job keeping his cool than I was. Me? Hell, he hadn't even left for the station yet, and my voice was already splitting at the seams. I couldn't tell if I was trying to force a laugh or trying to hold back a sob. Probably both. Either way, I was a wreck.

"Cr-crack some nuts out there, Matsu," I choked, my other hand forming a fist by my mouth to button it. "May the—may the Force be with you, young Skywalker™." In a way, I'd said that in an attempt to lighten the mood, but I meant it, too. Corny as this is going to sound, I really did want the Force to be with him. I wanted it to be with everyone.

The handshake quickly dissolved into a desperate hug, mostly because I suddenly felt as though I hadn't hugged him enough for the past couple of days. If it'd turn out that the odds would be defied, and my buddy wouldn't come back, he should've at least gone out with a hug. No one else would do it.

When I found myself thinking about that goddamn three percent, my grip on him tightened. I had to shift my head around and squeeze my eyes shut so I wouldn't get tear stains all over his tie. I could hear Matsuda grunt in surprise, not to mention physical discomfort.

He didn't get to return the gesture, however, because L picked that exact moment to can the hug-fest. "Mr. Mogi, please pry Miss Crocker off of Mr. Matsuda. We have a schedule to keep."

I was no match for old Mogi's muscle; he peeled me off of Matsuda in a snap. But then I started clinging onto him, like one of those creeper vines. Boy, did I put him in a bind; guy practically turned to stone. But I couldn't help it. As usual.

I was suddenly overcome with the need to hug everybody on the team, even Aiber and Wedy, for Christ's sake! I must've made even Misa look stoic. Believe me: that was saying something. But, since I wouldn't be out on the battlefield with them, I felt that the least I could do was give them my blessings, for what they were worth.

From somewhere, I heard L grunt, "Miss Crocker, that'll do. Please release Mr. Mogi and sit down."

I let go of Mogi. Then Light dove in to hook his hand around the crook of my elbow before I could latch onto his dad, guiding me into a swivel chair near where Misa stood. "That's enough, Elin. Don't make this harder than it has to be. Sit." What did he think I was, a puppy?

Huh. I might as well have been. If this were an action thriller movie, I would be the useless weenie underling that nobody liked and the firewood for merciless fans all over to rip on in their crummy fan fictions.

Except this wasn't a movie. This was reality, which made it all the worse. I didn't want them to go…but I sure as hell didn't want Higuchi running wild, either. Oh man, if only there'd been some other way…

Light couldn't stop me from crying out to the whole lot of them: "Pl-please be careful, guys! All of you. Please?" I said weakly, spinning the chair around by my heels to stretch a hand out to them. Yeah, by that point, I'd pretty much all but given up on trying to hide my feelings; I was only fighting a losing battle, there.

…

With the eight or nine monitors zoomed in on every perspective of the mission, keeping track of everything was barely a chore…for Light and L, anyway. Me? The first thing I wanted to do was tune in to that rag channel Sakura TV, so I could keep my eye on Matsuda. But the boys had different plans.

I sat by L's right side, while Light had his left. Misa paced back and forth behind us with her eager hands clasped in front of her. When I saw Light punching a number into the phone, I stretched my neck as far as I could without having to clamor all over L. "Who the hell are you calling at a time like this?" I asked, fists staying clenched in my lap.

Misa leaned over to poke the top of my head, as though trying to flip the "on" switch in my brain. "Who do you think, silly? Light's gonna call Namikawa, just like we planned! Where've you been?" Like that was supposed to be about as obvious as the wetness of water. Even Misa, the little diva, could keep her head on better than I could. Disgraceful.

Had I not been so mad with curiosity over what Light and Namikawa would say to each other, I would've buried my face in my arms, just to hide my shame. I had to kind of strain to listen in; the howl of my pulse was screwing up my hearing.

"Namikawa speaking," the businessman's cool and imperial voice greeted.

Light stood up to prop myself up on the desk by one arm. Anticipation had everyone tilting forward. "It's L. Before I go on, are you by yourself?"

Huh? Why was Light talking to Namikawa posing as L? Why couldn't L talk to him as himself? Did he have a phobia of phones, too? Or was he too busy stuffing his piehole with the fruit cake set out in front of him?

"No." 

"Then just act like this is a normal call, like last time." Like last time? Had the guys spoken to Namikawa before?

"I don't think there's any need for that. One of the people here with me was just expressing his suspicions about your last phone call." Actually, yeah. Matsuda had confided in me that days before, Light had called Namikawa and pressured him to become a mole for us. By posing as L. I guess he couldn't have gotten his attention any other way. What I didn't get was why L himself wasn't doing the talking.

But then, ever since the handcuffs, L had kind of been making Light do most of the work. Light had been the one to first notice Kira's connection with Yotsuba.

Anxious murmurings fuzzed up the other line, too low for me to make out. I guessed that Namikawa was with a couple of his fellow Yotsuba Group members. Oh, boy. How would that affect the plan? Did the others even know that Kira sat among them every week at their lousy meetings?

"L, Mido and Shimura are here, as well. I am reasonably certain that neither of them are Kira. In fact, they seem fed up with it, at this point. I'll speak for them and say that they'll choose to stand back and watch your face-off with Kira, like I plan to." 

Uh…that was good news, right? That they wouldn't interfere? My hands began to wring each other, as though trying to wring the sweat that clammed them up. So…the others hadn't really wanted to participate in those meetings, after all? Had they been blackmailed to? What if Namikawa was lying?

I thought about the eighth member, Hatori, the one that Kira had killed. "Kira has demonstrated that we must be committed to these meetings. We now know what will happen if we try to leave." 

A vague, inexplicable sense of pity for the Yotsuba Group bastards nibbled at my insides. I felt like throwing up. Like chucking my stomach clean across the table and all over those monitors. Sleazy businessmen weren't exactly the type of people that were supposed to stir pity. Fear and hatred, probably, but not pity.

Right?

Then again, I could say that about the criminals that Kira had made fodder out of. Or people like L. Lately, I'd been feeling helplessly sorry for just about every crummy bastard on the planet, people I never would've even considered worthy of pity before I got sucked into this mess.

Ugh. I just didn't know anymore. The underground world of serial killers and shyster detectives and aliases and mind games and gruesome ambition was no place for a Jane Doe like me without the safety of a silver screen in between. I didn't know anything, anymore, I could almost say. Except I didn't even know that much: if I really didn't know anything, I mean. No joke.

Light must not have thought so, by the way he lowered the receiver to shoot L a look. L didn't even have the courtesy to look back at him, his attention instead trained on the plate of cake resting on the tips of his fingers as he held it up to his nose, a fork posed in his other hand.

"That's fine," he mumbled. Again, why wasn't he talking to them? Why have Light do it?

Light picked up the receiver again. "Tonight, I'm going to catch Kira. But I'll need a favor from you."

"…Then it's the end for Higuchi?" 

I found it a miracle that I didn't fall out of my chair and break my neck. I had to quick grab on to the edge of the table to anchor myself.

I wasn't the only one in shock. "What? Then you know it's him?" That got L to glance up from his cake, his cheeks inflated with the sweet stuff. He wasn't supposed to say that, was he?

Namikawa suddenly sounded as though he'd pulled an atomic wedgie on the poor kid. "Ha! So even the great L can be tricked. Based on your reaction, I am now a hundred percent certain that Higuchi is Kira." Whoa. What was this guy doing as a CEO? He should've gotten into the detecting business. He sounded faintly—almost disturbingly—like L, for a second there.

By the way Light snarled to himself, he might as well have pulled a wedgie on him. He closed his eyes in quiet exasperation.

Misa raised a finger to her astonished lips. "Wow! Namikawa's pretty smart, huh? But then, Misa always thought he was, by looking at his face. Guess this proves it."

L rolled his eyes up towards the girl. "No. That was just because Light messed up."

I, in the meantime, squinted at L, my knuckles rubbing out the corner of my eye. "Hey, cut the kid a little slack, will ya?" I whispered. "I don't see you on the phone, speaking for yourself. Wh-why are you makin' Light do this, anyway? Is it 'cause you know deep down that you'd have probably fallen for that, too?" I finally worked up the guts to ask.

Naturally, I got no answer. I wasn't worth his breath. Well, that, and I guess a long, dry, over-elaborate explanation wouldn't have been the smartest thing to have with Light speaking to Namikawa and the other two men.

"I'm baiting Higuchi with a staged TV special, tonight: on Sakura TV," Light continued as soon as he had dusted himself off. "A few minutes into the program, I want you to contact Higuchi. Tell him to tune in. Do that for me, and I won't go after you or any of the other five. As for the others—Kida, Takahashi and Ooi—if they try to do anything, make sure to stop them."

"All right, I understand." 

Click. 

"H-how do you know if he's gonna do it?" I asked them. "Would Namikawa really set up one of his pack members like that?"

"Oh, he will, Elin," said Misa with a slight smirk. "Namikawa has to, if he doesn't wanna get in trouble."

All right, so karma-wise, Higuchi majorly deserved to get caught. But in a way, I couldn't help but feel lousy about the thought of Namikawa setting up one of his own, only so he wouldn't get busted for attending those goddamn meetings, not so much for justice's sake. Was Higuchi that much of an asshole that his group would sell him out without hesitation? Did nobody look out for each other, anymore? Or at least, consider it? Did everybody have to be such a user?

But he had killed one of their own before then, hadn't he? Every man for himself, now, like those boys stranded on the island in that book.

Funny thing: before I fell into this trench, I hadn't given much serious thought into stuff like this. Now that I did, I couldn't say I liked what I was seeing. I would block it all out, if I could.

"…Do you really mean that?" I asked. "Are you really gonna let the others go after you catch Higuchi? Or are you—are you just jerking them around, too?"

"We will not concern ourselves with that," mumbled L between bites. He didn't even answer my question. As usual. "For right now, our top priority is to trap Higuchi."

I squeezed my hands between my knees, shutting my eyes so he wouldn't see me rolling them. "Sure. Of course it is." What else could I say to that?

Soon, the center screen, the biggest one on the wall, flickered to life to display what looked like a square with six smaller rectangles in an array inside: a feedback image from the bugs Wedy had planted in Higuchi's garage, I guessed. But I wasn't too concerned about that. One of the smaller screens to the side had clicked on to display a gaudy image of two figures behind a wall of fiber glass, their shadows a stark contrast to the spotlight that showered the stage while corny suspense music blared from somewhere in the background.

God, how I hated rag news channels: they're the anti-Christ of honest journalism. We already had tabloids in the supermarket shelves; why sully the TV airwaves, too? In fact, that one night was—and has long since been—the only time I'd ever willingly tuned in to one of those PS channels. Strictly for Matsuda's sake.

The two figures spoke to each other through voice filters: "So, you're saying that one of those people is Kira, right?" That was the host, sitting on the right side of the glass as he seemed to lean in inch by inch to the figure on the left side. I could recognize that loveable knucklehead shape from a district away.

"Yes. I've got a lot of evidence to prove it, too." Matsuda's voice filter made him sound like he'd just swallowed a whole tank's worth of helium, like one of those Alvin Chipmunk™ characters or something. Boy, if I hadn't been so afraid of what would happen, that would've killed me. Had L given him that voice filter on purpose? I wouldn't have put it past him to. Even when you did exactly as he asked, he still had to make a moron out of you.

Taking care not to take my eyes off of the screen, I lurched to the side. "What a way to go. It wasn't enough to have him risk his life; you had to have him sound like a stupid chipmunk, too?"

L didn't look back at me, either. When he had his junk food, everything else seemed to fade out into view. "I assure you, Miss Crocker: that is the studio's technology alone. Also, you seem to be forgetting that Mr. Matsuda himself made the choice to appear on TV. I had no influence."

My fingernails dug into my thighs. "So…you're saying that if he dies, then it won't be your problem?" I said, all quiet and shaky and bitter, all of a sudden.

He answered, as cutting as a mower blade: "No. If it comes to that, Higuchi will be the one to have killed him." Was that supposed to make me feel better? But then, why would I have expected a different response out of him? With my eyes trained on Matsuda's silhouette, I couldn't even afford to blink back the tears burning the back of my eyes. All I could do was will them away. I don't think I need to say how much success I had, doing that.

"Then one of them was killed by Kira. And now, there are only seven left. The man who died was Mr. 'H.'" 

Mr. "H."…Hatori, he must've meant.

"Mr. 'H.' wanted to leave the meetings and was killed by Kira because of that." 

Just then, the audio crackled with the sound of something giving way. Matsuda's silhouette looked up in brief confusion, which instantly shattered into surprise when the fiber glass wall on his side—

CRASH!

—clanged to the floor, like a clap of thunder booming in my ears. The way his hands hovered over his head like a helmet as he stared wide-eyed back at me, his skin turning white with terror under the lights like a buck in front of the headlights of a speeding car…

Oh God. 

"Matsuda!" 

I must've sprang so fast out of my chair, I managed to wheel it a foot or two away. Like it'd do any good, I reached out a hand towards the screen while the other propped me up on the desk, hoping that maybe Matsuda would somehow see it, then reach out for it so I could pull him right out of the screen (that was what I got for watching too many movies, huh?).

He didn't. Members of the camera crew came rushing onto the set instead, one of them with a blanket to slip over Matsuda's hunched form while the others hastily grabbed at the fallen sheet of glass. The screen suddenly blinked to a picture of a beaming cherry blossom with words by it that read something along the lines of "Please stand by."

In the meantime, a hand shot up from behind me to yank me back into place by the wrist, while Misa rolled the chair under me. "Calm down, Elin," said Light. "This is all part of the plan. Remember?"

"Miss Crocker, I don't think it would be in your best interests to continue to watch if you're going to have a panic attack every time something happens," L said dryly.

You mean it wouldn't be in YOUR best interests? 

Damn it, why was I the only one losing her head here? It seemed that every time something happened, I'd be the only one hollering it off. Even Misa was better at keeping her cool than I was! I didn't know if it was a cultural thing, or a matter of strength of character, or experience, or…

Well, all right, maybe I wasn't really the only one. In my head, I could see that ijit Higuchi on the couch, sneering his chimp-like sneer at his twenty-nine-and-a-half-inch plasma screen TV, biting his nails to the stub, or whatever the hell serial killers did when they panicked.

I drew the line right there. I didn't want to think about what serial killers did when they panicked, or businessmen, much less a combination of the two. The blood-soaked gloves came off when they panicked, if they even wore gloves, in the first place.

I made a motion like I were adjusting my hat, even though I wasn't wearing it. L pretty much never let me wear my hat indoors; something about "needing to be able to see my face at all times," or whatever.

"No."

I inhaled through my nostrils as deeply as I could until I had to exhale through my mouth. I didn't even try to deny the part about a panic attack, only because my mind was dashing in too many directions to come up with an adequate cover-up. "I—I can't leave. I gotta stay, for Matsu's sake. For everyone's sake. S-support and whatnot. It's the least I can do. The least I should do." I waved him off. "Look, just…I dunno, just ignore me. I don't think you'll have any problem doing that…"

Seconds later, though, I'd make myself even less ignorable than before. Matsuda and the host appeared on the screen, again, safe, sound and alive behind the fiber glass. "Sir, we're terribly sorry for that accident! Are you all right?" An accident? What a hot one! I gave those Sakura TV fellas this much credit: at least they stuck to the script.

"We can stop, if you want." 

"No. I knew I was going to be in danger, by doing this. This is for the sake of justice, so I'll see it through to the end, even if it means my death!" 

Exactly what he'd told me three days before, almost, but it didn't make it hurt any less. In fact, my heart hurt just as much as it had, the first time I'd heard it, like a cut that had just started to heal, only to bleed as fresh as ever when his words picked off the scab. Just seeing him sit up there with his head on the chopping block, so willingly, saying it again even if it was all part of the dumb script—

Helpless helpless why're you so goddamn helpless—

I needed a hug. Badly. So badly. That's when I did something I probably shouldn't have.

"Crybaby Journalist Hugs Crackpot Detective!"

That's right: I hugged L. Out of everyone in the room, I had to do it to him. Now here I was, pulling off the nonconsensual touchy-feely. I hadn't meant to, but I wasn't thinking about that. All I could remember was how much I craved some kind of hug, I sure couldn't give one to Matsuda, and L just happened to be sitting right there, the cuddliest thing in my immediate vicinity.

Huh. Sure was cuddly, all right. I hadn't expected him to be, either. In fact, the first thing that caught my attention as soon as we made contact, eyes squeezed shut as tightly as they could be, was how clean he smelled. That struck me as surprising, to be honest. I mean, L looked like one of the biggest slobs I'd ever met, with his shaggy hair and same old grungy clothes. I never expected him to actually smell clean, especially not the cotton-fresh-out-of-the-laundry kind of clean. Not that I was actively smelling him, or anything; I wasn't. In the space between us—or lack thereof, I guess—it just came off that strong. Everything about the guy had to come off strong.

Only when the catchy ringtone of Misa's cell blared across the room did everything else start drifting back into focus. "It's him," I heard her mutter, before promptly hanging up on the dirty monkey without even answering.

My eyes popped open when she said that. Oh man, Higuchi was starting to call her now? He must've still thought of her as the Second Kira, so he must've thought that she could either kill Matsuda for him or at least give him Matsuda's real name so he could do it himself. A shiver thick with apprehension rippled through me. Guy didn't waste any time, did he?

On the flip side, though…did that mean that Light had been right? About his inability to do in Matsuda without his real name? I wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or not. After all, things had only just gotten started rolling.

That's when I noticed how I was staring into a jumbled mess of ink-black hair. That, and how whoever's person I'd been clinging to had suddenly seemed to turn as rigid as a corpse.

Holy crapola, am I hugging the world's greatest detective? 

It was a miracle I didn't spontaneously combust right then and there, for Christ's sake! My first instinct told me to let go of him before he kicked me or something, but I didn't. I was too scared to move, like any sudden movements would get a foot shoved up my nose. Too scared to get my chin off of the hollow in his shoulder, to even look him directly in the face.

I only rolled my eyes far enough to see how L had somehow managed to hold his arms out straight in order to protect his precious half-eaten cake. I could also say it didn't exactly help my predicament to hear Matsuda continue, "To be honest, I'd been debating for a long time about whether or not I should make this announcement. But now that I'm here, I know that I've done the right thing in coming forward." 

"We'll cut to a commercial break, ladies and gentlemen. Kira's identity will be announced soon! Stay tuned to Sakura TV!" 

I guess he didn't think I was threatening him, because the kick never came. At first, I thought he was just ignoring me, like I'd asked him to, but then I heard the soft clink of a plate being placed on the desk, the rustle of his shirt as his thumb climbed up to his lips, from out of the corner of my eye. His bangs draped across his face like a veil.

That made me wonder: was he thinking about what to do? Jeez, by the way he just sat there, I would've thought he'd never been hugged before in his life.

…

Wow. That was…kind of sad when I thought about it that way. No, not just kind of sad; very sad. Probably one of the saddest things I'd ever thought about, if not the most. L had quite the knack of making me sad, without even having to lift a finger. He was that pitiful. What made it worse was how likely that that could've been his case.

My chickenshit self still didn't move. L, on the other hand, did, in a way that I hadn't at all expected him to, no less. I thought maybe he would kick my head off like a football, or something. Instead, all of a sudden, I felt his arm slither around past me, followed by a hand resting on my back, in the spot between my shoulder blades, light and cautious as a feather as he started patting it a little, like a little kid. He did a lot of things like a little kid, it seemed. Not once did he spare even a passing glance at me.

I...didn't know what to make of that, to be honest. It could certainly go down in the archives as one of the most awkward and uncomfortable moments of my life, considering the record I had with that guy and all.

Not to say that I didn't appreciate it, though. In the darkest times, it's always nice to have some kind of comforting touch wherever you can get it, even if it's just a half-assed pat on the back from an anti-social nutjob detective, the one whose fault it is that you're there in the first place, no less. In fact, I couldn't remember a previous time when he felt more…non-threatening to be around.

I felt my grip on him relax.

"You may let go of me, at any time," he muttered. Naturally. Being a total hug-virgin, he wouldn't have wanted it to last too long, or have a clue how to end it, for that matter. At any rate, I finally had the nerve to get off of him. But boy, when I did, was I red as a stoplight, as soon as reality sunk back in! I practically wound up scooting my chair way the hell down along the desk, looking down at the floor the entire time. My hands adjusted the imaginary hat on my head before sliding back down between my knees.

"I-I-I'm sorry," I stuttered. "I didn't—I didn't mean to do that, honest, I didn't. I just—uh…um…"

L cut me off before I could trip over myself any more. "No need to dwell on it." He sure was better at shaking things off than I was, huh? Like nothing had happened.

Misa pranced up behind me to peek over my shoulder. When I got the courage to look up at her, I could see a mildly triumphant smirk weaving into her lips. I met it with a dirty look.

Bee-beep. 

Watari's "W" blinked on the computer monitor. "Ryuzaki, Mogi is in position in front of Yoshida Productions. He's just received a call from Higuchi." 

As embarrassed as hell as I was, I had to force myself to wheel back into the huddle the four of us made around the monitor. After all, Higuchi was still at large, Matsuda and the others still in danger. L had been right, in a way: I really couldn't dwell on that hug. Later, maybe, if I'd ever get the luxury to, but not now.

Oh man, what would Higuchi say to old Mogi? My fingernails dug back into my thighs once again when the screen changed to a digital image of two cell phones: one labeled "H," the other labeled "M."

"Yes, it's time for Phase Two," said L. "Everything's as planned."


	19. Spectacle

"Moji, where's Misa?"

"Ohhh, Mr. Higuchi, pleasure to hear from you!" No way. Was that Mogi answering? It sounded like him, but in a way, it didn't. This guy sounded too…peppy and energetic to be Mogi. If that really was him, the others must've forced him to talk like that—to even talk at all—so he would better fit the part of Misa's manager. I could only imagine how much he was killing himself over it; only went to show what a tough guy he really was.

"I'm sorry, but Misa-Misa's taking a much-needed vacation, right now. She should be back by, oh, tomorrow morning, though. You can reach her, then!" I had to admit, Mogi sure did a terrific job in keeping up his charade. In a vague way, listening to him act so chipper and all kind of scared me.

But he didn't scare me nearly as much as old Higuchi did. "I'm asking you where she is, NOW." The damn conversation had barely gotten started, and he was already raising his voice. Higuchi had dove for the bait, violently yanking at it like a trout with his stupid fat lip caught through the hook. I didn't know whether to call that a good thing, to be honest. For a serial killer, the guy was a real ijit; it was almost pitiful.

Assuming that Higuchi was only a proxy for the real deal, I wondered for a minute if the original Kira had been as dumb as this guy, give or take a couple IQ points. Surely, he would've picked someone more intelligent to carry on his dirty deeds…provided that he could and would pass on whatever screwy powers he had?

Although I guess it takes a genuine ijit to resort to murder in order to accomplish anything, whether it be power and wealth, or "a better world."

"Well, that's private information," chuckled Mogi—I didn't think he was capable of chuckling. "She's requested that no one know where she is. I'm very sorry; I'll have her contact you tomorrow, first thing!"

I glanced back at Misa, who stood fixed in a kind of fighting stance behind L and me, her tiny fists raised out in front of her as she stared down the screen with the hardest face I'd ever seen on her. Now, I didn't think anyone on the team liked Higuchi, in general—I sure as hell didn't—but Misa seemed to hold a particularly strong animosity towards him. That's what it looked like to me, anyway. Was that because he was Kira?

Even though she'd insisted that she would support Light through thick and thin, a part of me thought that maybe, a small part deep inside her, buried in the bottom of her heart, still admired Kira. Even if he was a bad guy, it was hard to imagine how somebody like Misa would suddenly drop all appreciation—no matter how unhealthy—for the one that had judged the guy who'd killed her family.

If that were true, I could only imagine how much it killed her to see the "god" she'd worshipped so much turn out to be a self-serving corporate sleazeball. I didn't know. I didn't know anything. I turned back towards the screen.

After a brief, tense pause, Higuchi asked, "Do you know if Misa's former manager was an entertainer, at some point?"

Huh? Why would he go ask something like that? Did he think that that would somehow get him Matsuda's real name or something?

"Come again?" asked Mogi. Like he hadn't caught that, the first time around.

"I'm talking about Taro MATSUI!" Higuchi snapped. Boy, did that have me reeling in my seat; I damn near wheeled the chair out far enough to roll over Misa's toes! Needless to say, she was not amused.

"Ohhh! I was only recently hired, so I don't know much about him." Did I mention how much it killed me to hear Mogi acting so clueless? I could almost call it scandalous if it weren't for the fact that it paled in comparison to the scandalous-ity behind the entire mess in general. "If you need some information, I could let you talk to someone from the office. Oh, I just remembered: everyone's in Okinawa, at the moment! You could try calling the president, though."

Light was now standing out of his seat. "This is going exactly as I planned," he muttered. "It's almost scary." Tell me about it.

"You shouldn't be scared, Light," said L his hands intently curled on top of his knees. "You should be happy." In a way, I had to admire him. He had a talent for shaking things off. By the way he seemed so unfazed, you would've thought that I hadn't just given him a spontaneous hug, a while before. That was more than what I could say for myself. Five or so minutes after the fact, I still found it tough to look him in the eye. I didn't really know why it felt like a big deal; it'd only been a hug. It dwarfed when compared to the magnitude of what currently unfolded in front of us.

I guess I was just still embarrassed as hell. It certainly didn't help that I felt that need for another hug start bubbling up, the longer this dragged on.

The fact that I'd done it to the world's greatest detective—and lived—felt pretty overwhelming, all by itself: more so than a picture with Mickey Mouse™, or shaking hands with the President of the United States, even! Brother, what a thing to write home about! If I could, in the first place. It was just something that I would assume not too many folks had the privilege to say they did.

…

Huh. For some reason, that made me feel lousy, all of a sudden, thinking about that, his status and all. For a second there, it sounded I'd been making it out like one of those crummy thrill attractions that came with the corny T-shirts that said, "I Survived So-and-So!" After all, for all of your backassward-ness, were you not still just a person, L? Somebody who didn't seem to have gotten nearly as many hugs as anyone ought to get?

I could say the same thing about Misa, or Matsuda, or Light, or the President of the United States, or Mickey Mouse™—he came from someone's imagination, so I would say that that would make him a person too, in a way.

…Who knew? I could even say that about Kira.

Probably.

Watari's "W" blinked back on. "I'm patching you into Higuchi's call with the president of Yoshida Productions." Just like before, an image of two cell phones appeared on the screen. Only this time, while one was still labeled "H," the other was labeled "Y."

Well, I decidedly could say that, for all of his dirty monkey power-hungry madness, even Higuchi was still a person, as he clearly demonstrated as his composure eroded away with every second that ticked by like a heartbeat ringing the wax out of my ears. "This is Higuchi from Yotsuba. That manager's real name isn't Taro Matsui, is it?"

"Uhh…no, it wasn't, I recall. I think he took on a fake name when he took the job as Misa's manager."

"He's not even pretending to hide what he's asking about now, is he?" Misa giggled, a hand creeping up to her lips as she jabbed a taunting finger at the screen. "Stupid Higuchi!" She was right, he was stupid. I on the other hand couldn't say I found it all that funny, like she found it to be. I might've, a long time ago in a galaxy far away, but not now. Not anymore. Even when a guy deserves what Higuchi was getting, it's not really that funny to watch him get his just desserts, even when it seems funny at first. Not to me, anyway. It gets too sad to be funny.

"If he's acting like that, it's proof that he's beginning to panic," said L.

He was right. I could hear Higuchi's voice rising even higher than it had with Mogi. "Then what was his real name?"

"I think it was Yamada. No, wait…Yamashita? His first name was…oh, I'm sorry, I can't remember," said the president, almost as clueless as Mogi had sounded, only more genuine. So much that it made me wonder if he really was clueless, or if he'd really been practicing his script.

"DON'T FUCK WITH ME! Why the hell can't you remember the names of the people you hire?"

Jesus Christ, he just about scared the piss out of me. The way he seemed to pant so heavily into the phone like a mad junkyard dog, it was a blue-eyed miracle I didn't crash straight to the floor or scurry across the room to duck under the couch. I practically put my arms over my head and all, like I was afraid his fist could fly right through the damn monitor! It's awful to watch—or in this case listen to—people unravel like that, even when it's yourself.

When it's yourself though, it's not quite as bad as seeing someone else do it, because at least you can't see your face contort into shapes and colors you would've never in your right mind thought you could accomplish, or hear your voice reach octaves it would never normally reach. Here, I couldn't see his face, but I could just picture it. I could see him foaming at the mouth, for God's sake.

Naturally though, I was the only one who'd flinched. Even the guy Higuchi was talking to didn't sound at all fazed. "All right, all right, no need for that kind of language. I've got his personnel file back in the office."

"Then go back there and get it," Higuchi snarled, his voice shaking like all hell.

"You've gotta be kidding me," said the president, all sore and inconvenienced. "Give me a break. We're on our first company vacation in two years. If you wanna know that badly, I can give you the PIN code for the office business lock. You can go in yourself and look it up. How's that? The personnel files are in the desk in the back, to the left. You'll find them in the bottom drawer; they should all be sorted alphabetically. But I'm pretty sure it was Yamashita."

I realized that that was all part of the master-plan, but really, can a president be that dim-witted? Letting a nutbar with a short fuse like Higuchi rummage through his business's personal stuff…guy must've been sauced from all of those drinks or something.

This was part of the plan. I had to keep telling myself that. All part of the plan.

"What's he gonna do?" Misa asked. Her guess was as good as mine.

It didn't take long to figure that out, though. Just then, one of the rectangles on the largest monitor started to glow red. Since we were looking at the six cars in his garage, that could only mean one thing.

"I see Higuchi," Wedy's voice emitted from the computer screen. "He's only carrying a single bag. I'm in pursuit." We could see their shapes on the screen, a little green circle—Wedy—steadily tailing after a larger red rectangle—Higuchi.

It had me springing right out of my chair. "Oh, man! He's gonna go for it, guys!" I cried, my first words since that hugging incident. At that moment, I seriously contemplated begging them to stop him before things could get out of hand. Before he could hurt somebody.

But the boys cut me off before I even made the decision to ask. "Everything's still going according to plan," said Light.

"Yes," said L.

"Yeah!" cheered Misa, hopping up and down. "He's got two hours before the show ends to find out Matsu's real name! Ha, like he'll make it! Run, dumb monkey, run!"

That was it, then. It was supposed to happen. They would let him speed across the stupid city like the madman he was, all so they could catch him in the act. Even if he ran over a couple civilians along the way. And I was the only one who seemed bothered by it. No amount of pleading and begging on my part could change their minds.

"Oh Wedy, please be careful out on the road."

"I'm a pro at this. I don't need to be told to be careful. But thanks," came her cool reply over the hum of the engine on her monster of a bike.

Of course, no story of the century would be complete without the high-speed chase. And goddamn it, if this was bound to turn out anything like the chases I'd seen in the movies (even worse than that, because real lives had been put at stake, here)…the rubber had only just started burning.

…

"Cosme-Misa…a devilish charm…an angel's glitter…Misa's new line of lipstick, just for you."

That one little clip aired for about the twelfth time since the expose started. By now, I could recite its words by heart, even if I wasn't in the mood. Some things just stick in the head, regardless of whether you want it to be there.

I have to say, though: Misa did look pretty nice on there, giggling and puckering her lips and everything. Even if she sparkled more than Edward Cullen™. Sparkles sell things, I guess.

What really got me was how L reacted to it. Boy, you should've seen him. He looked fascinated as hell. When Misa licked her plump red lips on the TV, he licked his—no, he didn't just lick; he slurped. When she pulled off a petal off of a flower with her mouth, he took his banana and started tugging on the end of the peel with his teeth, like he was trying to imitate her, or something, like—you guessed it—a little kid. A classic example of why folks should pay a little more attention to what the kiddies see on TV, be they twenty months or twenty-something years old. It made me wonder for a minute whether the TV had been a source of inspiration for at least a fifth of the crazy shit he did and said. Not calling him uncreative or anything—far from it; I just had to wonder.

I wondered if he'd start running around with lipstick?

I swear, if I wasn't so antsy, that would've killed me. When he wasn't busy being obnoxious or scary, he could knock me out, in a strange, indescribable way. He had the particular talent of acting as a combination of the three at the same time on the same day, the same hour, even.

Light stood over L with a funny look. "Ah, Ryuzaki, the commercial's almost over."

L let go of the peel in an instant. "Oh, is that so?"

I peered over at Misa, who also had a funny look on her face. I could only imagine what she thought about L acting like that when her commercial came on. Well, he did say once that he could fall for her…

I managed a half-smile, too anxious to make a full one. "You look pretty good up on TV, Misa, I gotta say," I told her. I meant it. Well, that, and I couldn't bring myself to say much more than that. I didn't feel like arguing with her. "That lipstick's gonna be selling like hot cakes. Plus, now whenever I see it, I can point at you and say, 'You see that girl? I know her. She's a good friend of mine.' Not a lot of people can say that they're chums with someone on TV. I just…think that's cool."

"Aw, thank you, Elin."

As soon as the commercial ended, harsh reality sunk back into place. I guess if any good could come from commercials, it would be the distraction, however momentary. But, at least Matsuda was still alive when the show came back on. "Next thing you know, I'm in a hotel room drinking, with all eight of them!"

The host chuckled, "Well, that's rather amusing." Amusing? Another hot one! I was there; believe me, that night had been anything but.

"But if I give you any more details, I'm afraid the people who were there that night will realize which one of them is Kira. So, I think it's better to leave it at that, for now."

"Of course. Please take your time to tell us all the details of your ordeal to find Kira."

L had already destroyed half of that banana when he asked Light between mouthfuls, "Light, please put Higuchi's car on Audio Channel One, and Sakura TV on Channel Two."

Light worked his magic on the keyboard. "As expected, Higuchi's watching every minute of this from his car."

And we in turn could watch everything from every angle: the Kira special, the inside of Yoshida productions where Mogi and Aiber took cover, the Sakura TV studio where Mr. Yagami stayed on stand-by next to a fat, mean-looking guy in glasses with a bowl haircut and bristly mustache who looked quite pleased with all this excitement, given the smirk on his pudgy face (a.k.a., Demegawa, STV's mastermind)...

And of course, on center stage, our villain of the hour. All up on the wall.

It was...kinda overwhelming. Was this what seeing through God's eyes was like?

Whoa! Higuchi could watch TV from his car? That must've been one fancy-ass car he raced around in. He didn't seem at all like the type for family-size caravans. Sure enough, while the expose continued in a smaller screen on the top right side, an image of Higuchi lurking in the darkness of his car—looked like the interior of a posh sports car; sounded like it, too, from the ominous roar of the engine, the more he stepped on the gas—blinked on in the largest screen. Even under the shifty illumination of the street lights, I could see sweat rolling down his ghastly face from the point of his widow's peak downward, as fat as bath beads, his gaze as tense and trembling as his fists as he hung on to the steering wheel for dear life. Man, he looked ready to strangle someone if it would save his ass.

My grip on the arms of my chair tightened in response, until the circulation in my fingers ran dry.

"And so, according to you, it was at that party that you met Kira?"

"Yes. But of course, at the time, I had no way of knowing he was actually Kira."

"So that means he saw your face?" breathed the host, showering Matsuda with the obligatory praise. "This is incredible! I think it is amazingly courageous of you to step forward and appear on this program! Are you sure you're okay with it?"

"Yes," said Matsuda, as even and adamant as he'd been since the stupid show had started. Oh man, didn't he know that Higuchi was coming for him, right as he spoke? I bet so, but that didn't make anything feel better. He would know, but he could do nothing about it. Except talk.

"After I started investigating him, I learned that there are two things Kira has to have in order to kill someone. There are rumors on TV and the Internet as to what those two things might be, but I know the truth!"

A name and a face…that was what he was talking about, right?

"But Kira only knows one of those two things about me, so that means I should be safe."

Yeah, that's it, Matsuda! Crack his nuts! Just from looking at his face, the way he gritted his teeth, I could tell that Higuchi's nuts were cracking wider and wider with every word my buddy said.

But that's also about the time when things started to get bizarre. Stranger than usual, I mean. All of a sudden, that lunatic started rambling to himself, as though there were somebody with him in the car.

"Rem, what do you think?"

Say whaaaat? Who the hell was—

"Rem? Who's that?" Light blinked in confusion. "There's…no one else in that car, right? It's impossible for someone to be hiding without us knowing. He's not using his cell phone…could it be hidden radio?"

I could hear L mashing the banana with his molars, even from across the room. He gulped down the last of the fruit and set the remaining peel aside. "No. There aren't any radios or other devices: only the bugs, cameras and tracking beacons that Wedy placed. I have no doubt that she did a thorough job."

"Do you think I'll get to Yoshida Productions, only to find that his file isn't there?" Boy, did Higuchi sound irritated as hell.

"Is he talking to himself?" Light wondered aloud.

"If this guy was smart, he would destroy everything that would connect him with his real name before appearing on TV. And don't you think that it's a little too reckless for Yoshida Productions to just let me into their offices unsupervised? Ngh…maybe not. If there was a robbery, they'd figure out right away who did it since I know where the key is."

I don't know: for a guy talking to himself, he sure was getting pretty elaborate, like he honestly had somebody else in the dumb car to talk to. "Rem"…an imaginary friend created out of his power-hungry delusions, maybe? Because I wouldn't have counted on him having any real ones, the poor bastard. Even his "real friends" from the Group had sold him out. Nevertheless, it sounded like he was having second thoughts about rushing over to the office, actually demonstrating a little cold calculation I would've expected out of a cold-blooded reptile like him.

Suddenly, it sounded like I wasn't the only one getting antsy. "This isn't sounding very good," said Misa apprehensively. But she and I weren't antsy for the same reason. She was worried that Higuchi would realize that he was heading for a trap and turn around before we could pin him down. While I guess that would've been bad for us if he did, in a way, I was sort of hoping he'd turn around. I just didn't want things to spiral out of control, is all. This wasn't a goddamn movie after all, no matter how skillful each member of the task force was.

"He'll still go there," L assured us. "Don't you worry."

"Come on man," I said, pointing at Higuchi's image. "Listen to him. He can't be that stupid to still go for it at this point, can he?"

While just about everything L said usually came true, by the way Higuchi kept rambling to himself, stony eyes fixed on the road, I had to doubt it, anyway. "Even if he does have a file at Yoshida, it could be just another alias. Damn it! I wouldn't put it past this guy to do that. No wonder he's confident."

In the meantime, the host on the Sakura TV channel announced, "All right, there's only one hour left until the big announcement!" Wow! Two hours had already passed? Geez, time flies when you're luring a crazy serial killer into a trap, putting everybody's lives at stake.

After a long pause, with nothing but the hum of his engine as he showed no signs of braking, Higuchi muttered, "Yeah. I already know that much myself. But just to be on the safe side, I should also kill the people I contacted at Yoshida Productions. That includes the president, Misa and that manager of hers."

I almost threw up, swear to God. And I hadn't even eaten anything since breakfast that morning. Was he serious? How? How could someone make plans like that, to kill people, with such a straight face? To bring them out into the open like he did? What happened to this guy?

…I think the real question was, what the hell happens to anyone to turn them into criminals? Before I got sucked into the Kira case, I wouldn't have considered stuff like that before. Not really. I'd see actors posing as villains talk like that on the screen and not think very much of it except what a bastard that character was, only to forget about it as soon as the credits started rolling.

Now that I was seeing real people talk like that…

Oh man. If I hadn't been so enthralled with the action, I might've dove straight for the toilet.

I wondered how Higuchi would take it if he found out he was being watched, the entire time. I didn't dwell on it, though. If I had, I would've really started blowing chunks. Besides that, I was afraid that if I thought about it—his discovering the cameras and all—it would happen.

I wasn't the only one turning pale. "What? No way! H-he's gonna kill me?" Misa cried, rabbit-eyed. She looked so terrified, I wanted to hug her. She sure looked like she could use one; I know I did. And I wasn't sure if Light would oblige her. He kept his eyes on Higuchi the entire time.

Only L went out of his way to provide any form of comfort—or what could qualify as "comfort" by his standards: "It's all right, don't worry. He's talking about doing that after he's killed Matsuda. There'd be no point in killing the rest of you until he's gotten rid of the main threat."

"That's true," agreed Light. "But still…"

Acting on the sinking feeling in my chest, I clunked my head on the table, fingers digging into my scalp as that terrible tingle curled my senses. Something bad would happen, no doubt about it, at the rate things were going. "Aw man! He's still gonna go for it? That asshole…leave Matsu alone!" I barked, like Higuchi could hear me, or heed me for that matter.

L glanced at me. "I told you to stop doing that." He must've meant my clunking my head all over the place.

Higuchi paused again, like he was listening intently to the roar of his engine, or whatever voices were living in his head. "…Oh, yeah. Rem, I didn't think you were so smart. Then I'll make them all erase their call histories before they die."

That had Light rising out of his seat before I could comment on that. "There's no way he can just be talking to himself! But who's Rem? Who is he talking to?"

L had just picked up another fresh banana, rolling it around in his fingers like a roll of Play-doh™. As he started to pull down the peel, I heard him say something…pretty unexpected.

"If he's talking with someone right now, it could be…"

Curiosity drove me to inch a little closer, just to hear what crackpot idea he had on the whole thing. Boy, was my mind blown.

"…a shinigami."

Uh…what? "Shinigami?" Was that what he said? For a second there, I was so caught by surprise, my mind literally went blank, blew a fuse, if you will. I had to stick my pinkie in my ear just to make sure I didn't have something in there messing up my hearing.

That word sounded kind of familiar, for some reason. Why did it…?

And…why did Misa look so weirded out, all of sudden, when I looked back at her? Seriously, she sounded like she was gulping and everything from behind us. Well, with a proposal like that, why wouldn't she feel weirded out? But by the way she looked at the back of L's head, I would've thought that either he was driving at something she didn't want him to drive at, or he'd just made a plain scary proposal.

I would've asked L to elaborate on that, but he cut me off, as usual, before a single word could leave my throat. "Perhaps," was all he said on that, before raising up the peeled banana to bite the thing with his teeth flashing, like a real monkey. You could give him a snack as plain and unassuming as a banana; he'd find some off-beat way to eat it.

Higuchi continued to blather to himself, oblivious as he'd ever been, yet so adamant in his argument against the voices in his head. Boy, I could see the sweat trickling down the bridge of his crooked nose even under the distant glow of the city lights. His face glistened with the stuff. "No! I'd end up being ruined, if I did that! Even if I forgot the notebook, this guy says he has concrete evidence to back him up. If he points out Yotsuba's recent growth on the air, no one would ever doubt his claims! They'd believe whatever he said. That means, whoever he says is Kira, will be marked as Kira!"

By now, I was sitting way up in my chair. Notebook? What about a notebook? What did a stupid notebook have to do with anything?

"Even if he didn't have proof and I got rid of the evidence by returning the notebook, my life would be over," he snarled. "I wouldn't get promoted; I wouldn't even get to stay with Yotsuba!"

…He lost me at "notebook." First, "shinigami," now notebooks? Ooh, boy: somebody get me an aspirin. No, better yet: somebody get me off of this crazy train, period!

"Of course, Sakura TV has broadcasted this show under the premise that as we speak, Kira is watching this program," said the host from the far side of the wall—keeping track of both screens, by that point, had my eyes practically dangling out of their sockets. My head didn't feel so great, either; it was ready to pop, like a balloon with too much air packed into it.

Then, Matsuda said something that had my heart blowing up with bile; I could feel it fizzling up my throat. Out of the corner of my vision, I saw his silhouette shift around to face the screen, fists raised in front of him with conviction that I could only dream about having. "In that case, I'll take this chance to call out to him. KIRA! Please turn yourself in!" What a thing to say to the one who set out for your blood, in a chipmunk-voice, for God's sake!

Did Higuchi listen? Hell no, he didn't. Naturally. In fact, he looked even more livid than he had two minutes before, as he glowered back at the small TV in the shotgun, baring his teeth like a rabid chimpanzee.

His car screeched to a quiet halt as he started pulling up alongside a building—the Yoshida Productions office, I guessed. Before long, he slipped out of view, the bang of his shutting the car door ringing in my ears like a gunshot.

"He's arrived at Yoshida Productions," said Light.

"The show is about to begin," muttered L, leaning in a little closer to the screen in intrigue. I did the same, though not so much in intrigue as…well, you know. As the screen blinked on to an image of a dimly-lit office, I kept asking myself, What's he gonna do? How the hell does he do it? Oh, Matsuda…please don't find Matsu's real name in there! He probably wouldn't have, but I panicked about that, anyway. I couldn't help it: we, out of everyone in the triple-W, were about to see how the notorious Kira, a mass murderer, killed his victims. The opportunity of a fucking lifetime.

But believe me, I felt just about anything and everything about that, but honored. Or excited, for that matter. By that point this case had virtually lost all value to me as the story of the century, journalistic oil. I just wanted it to stop.

Higuchi flipped on the lights. Following the directions the president had given him, he made a left turn and crept all the way down towards the desk at the end of the row alongside the wall, a black bag tucked under his arm. I kind of expected him to kick down the door and prance in there shrieking like the savage he was, but he didn't.

Apart from the fact that he looked like he had ice cubes in his pants, he suddenly looked so…calm. I didn't like that, not one mite. In fact in a way maybe I would've rather that he came charging in there all savage-like. I just couldn't wrap my mind around how someone—a real person, not an actor—could suddenly be so calm right when they were about to kill somebody, take a guy's life against his will, a life that never did anything to him to deserve it. I could hardly wrap my mind around a lot of things about this whole case.

When he found the drawer he was looking for, he knelt down and started sifting through the files like a rat scrounging through the trash. The scratchy sound of files shuffling around reminded me how some of the guys on the team were supposed to have been positioned somewhere in the office, ready to take him down on L's signal.

I turned around to ask L and Light to have him taken down now, before things really got grisly. He hadn't even found Matsuda's goddamn file yet, which probably had another alias scrawled in there anyway, and I already wanted things to stop.

But the looks of intense concentration all three of them had on kept the question scrunched down at the bottom of my throat. They wouldn't take him down. Not until they saw how he did the dirty deed, no innuendoes intended.

Finally, Higuchi pulled out the file he'd been looking for, keeping his back towards us as he opened it with quivering hands. Boy, you should've seen the look L had on when Higuchi started putting the file and his bag on the desk, like a butcher setting up his well-worn cutlery. I found it a wonder his eyes didn't drift straight out of his head and paste themselves to the monitor.

As if reaching for the biggest, sharpest knife in a cutlery drawer, Higuchi's hand slipped into his bag, to take out this plain black notebook.

"We're in position and ready to take him down," I heard Mogi's voice emanate from somewhere in a hushed whisper: his normal voice, not the phony one he'd used with Higuchi. "We'll move on your command."

"Right," said L.

Guess what Higuchi did as soon as he opened his notebook, in the meantime?

He wrote down the name he'd found in the file: Taichiro Yamashita.

…

That was all. I would make it sound more dramatic than that, as I would've thought the situation called for, but I couldn't. I had nothing to dramatize. So it seemed. In fact, as soon as he scribbled down the last letter, he put the file away, closed the drawer, packed up his things, and started heading for the exit, disappearing out of view. By the look he had on—like the look of someone freed from constipation—I wondered why he wasn't whistling a merry tune, on the way out.

I didn't know whether to feel relieved, or to go through with a panic attack, anyhow. I mean, that name he'd put down was fake and everything, but…

Light's own eyes became as big as ping-pong balls. "He's not doing it!" he exclaimed. "He just made a note of his name before leaving. So…he's not going to kill him here?"

"Ryuzaki," said Mogi, "do you want us to apprehend him?"

Positively.

"Negative," said L. Naturally. "We still don't know how he kills. Perhaps he's planning to do something once he's back in the car…let's see Camera One, again. Mogi, join Wedy in tailing him, instead."

So Light adjusted the monitor again to the image of the inside of old Higuchi's car. Once he got in and planted his sweet ass into the driver's seat, he pulled out his watch, as though checking out the time or something. Thing was, when he got it out, he kind of just…stared at it. For like, a minute, give or take a couple seconds. I wasn't really keeping track. I was bracing myself for whatever crazy stunt he'd pull next. And Matsuda; I was still watching him.

Oh God, please don't keel over, please don't keel over, please please PLEASE don't keel over—

"Huh? It's weird: you'd think he'd be desperate to kill Matsuda this very second," said Light, since I was too scared to make any comments myself, "but…he's calm."

"It is strange," said L. "If all he needed was the name, then he should've taken the personnel file with him. But he just put it back in its drawer after taking the note."

"You know that there are a large number of people today who support what Kira's doing. Crime rates, in Japan and all over, have toppled down since he's hit the scene! It takes a special kind of courage to stand up against such odds."

Maybe someone up there was listening, after all. At least a little. Because Matsuda showed no signs of keeling over; he was still going strong, singing that anti-Kira jazz. "No way! Kira is a cold-blooded murderer. I can't forgive him for what he's done."

I would've sighed with relief if Higuchi didn't pick that exact moment to hit the ceiling. Jesus Christ, did he hit the ceiling! "DAMN, HE DIDN'T DIE!" The savage was back. It was a blue-eyed miracle he didn't make like a missile and blast right through the roof of his car!

"Wh-what's he talking about?" asked Light. "He said, 'He didn't die.'"

"Did he already try to kill Matsuda?" L asked, like a little kid curious about where babies came from. I seemed to be the only one Higuchi was scaring the piss out of. Seriously, I was whirling around in my chair and everything, ducking in cover, like Higuchi's raw, unadulterated rage would blow out the screen at any minute in a shower of sparks.

"Was writing his name down all he had to do, or was it…?"

L trailed off there.

Light turned to him, a tiny bead of sweat hanging from his cheekbone. "What do we do now? Should we just continue watching what he's doing? What if he can cause a death just by imagining it?"

That's when I took my hands off of my head. Slowly turning my way back towards the monitor on my heels, I leaned in to give old L a gentle, almost nonexistent, nudge in the ribs, shaking all over like a leaf just before snapping off of a branch.

"Imagining it, he says. H-hey, guys," I stuttered, "y-you know what would be kind of f-f-funny? You kn-know what w-w-would be a real zinger? If, l-l-like, all he had to do was write down M-M-Matsuda's name in that s-s-stupid notebook while i-imagining old Matsu's f-face getting p-pulverized to a p-p-pulp. O-or something. Fuck, what a—what a s-sensation that would be, h-huh?" I chuckled with amusement I sure didn't feel.

That's a pretty strange thing to do, I realize: horsing around in a situation like that one. I had no idea what the hell I was thinking when I said that, to be honest. For one, it wasn't all that funny, not in the least. But my nerves were shot, they really were. Things were moving so fast and furiously, I didn't have the luxury—or more like, the capacity—to think things out, like L and Light did. Obviously, or I wouldn't have started nudging L in the ribs, for Christ's sake.

Besides, if I had to pick between giggling like a half-wit and bawling like the crybaby I really was, I would laugh my ass off, any time.

Of course, L didn't answer me. I wasn't even sure if he'd heard me. He looked lost, in his own little world, I mean. It would be wrong to assume if L had ever been lost in the sense that he wasn't thinking pretty hard about what was unfurling in front of him. Unlike me.

"Only fifty minutes until the big Kira announcement!"

"RAAAUGH! I don't have any time!" Twitching like a neurotic jackal, Higuchi fumbled for his cell phone to punch in a number. Crap! Now who was he calling?

"He's making a phone call," said Light.

"It's probably Misa, again," muttered L.

Wouldn't you know, Misa's cell started chiming again, sure enough. She knew the drill. With a toss of her blonde locks, she cut him off before even answering. No mercy.

Wow, did he really flip his lid then! So much that he wound up tossing his poor cell phone clear across the damn car, having it clunk uselessly against the rear window. Like it was the phone's fault he was in this hot bowl of soup. Sinking into the upholstery, he held on to the steering wheel like he wanted to crush it in his bare hands, sneering out into space like a lion hiding in ambush. A scrawny and very sweaty lion.

"Ryuzaki, come on! Can't we just pull the guy aside now? He's not doing anything now; get Mogi to tackle him or something! We can sit him down and interrogate him; that's what we were gonna do anyway, right? Please? B-before he—"

Higuchi stayed in that exact position for the longest time. Then—

"Rem, let's make the deal."

Come again? By now, every last nerve in my system flashed ablaze. Why I hadn't just spontaneously combusted right then and there, I would never figure out.

"The deal? Who is this Rem person he keeps talking to?" Light demanded. "Could it really be that Kira's power comes from another world? Or some being?"

"I really don't want to think that's the case," said L.

"Then what is this Rem?"

"A shinigami…?"

There was that ten thousand-dollar word again. I swear, it rang a bell somewhere. But where? I wouldn't have the time to meditate on it until later.

From over my shoulder, it looked like I wasn't the only one freaking out. I got a look at Misa again. Funny, how every time the words "shinigami" or "notebook" were mentioned, she flinched a little. Very slightly, but not completely ignorable. What was wrong with her? I wouldn't have the time until later to try asking her about it.

"Whatever it is, we need to keep watching him. We'll learn nothing if he take him down now. We may still be able to find out how he kills…"

I glared at him. That was all I could do. "Christ Almighty," I said hoarsely, "is that all you care about? Dude's gonna hurt somebody, and all you care about is how the sonofabitch does it?"

"At the moment, yes." Total deadpan.

Why did I even bother?

Higuchi sure looked ready to hurt somebody, all right; ready to maim, decapitate, eviscerate, castrate. Looking back at the monitor, his face changed, all of a sudden. No, he didn't look any less dangerous. Actually, he looked even more so, his lousy hair prickling at the top of his head like horns or spikes. His predatory sneer had now morphed into a maniacal, almost demonic grin that literally stretched from one ear to the other, contorting his whole face to the point where it felt like I was staring at the face of the Devil himself. Or at the very least, the Grinch™ on crack.

By the way his tires screamed when he punched the gas, he might as well have been on crack. I could only imagine how tough it must've been for Wedy and the others to tail him, while trying to keep a safe enough distance away.

"We're heading after him," shouted Mogi.

I wish I could say that the traffic cop, who inevitably went after him and had him pull over, was nearly as smart enough to stay away. Before long, a siren wailed over the howl of the engine and Higuchi's heavy breathing.

"You in the red car! Pull over to the side of the road! Now!"

"Damn. This is bad. Higuchi's been pulled over by a traffic cop," said Wedy. "I'm gonna have to pass him and leave the pursuit to Aiber's team."

I expected Higuchi to flip the cop the bird and keep going. In fact, I kind of wanted him to do that. That cop had no idea who he was messing with.

But Higuchi did pull over, as well as the cop from somewhere behind him. The whole time I heard his footsteps alongside the car, I kept begging the guy to turn around, flailing my hands over my head and everything. "No, man! Don't do it! Stay away from him!" I begged, my vision suddenly blurring out. Huh. Like he could hear me.

"Elin, calm down," said Light. Did these guys really not care? At all?

"Quit telling me to calm down!" I snapped, jabbing a finger in his direction. "I am calm!" I…shouldn't have said that. I wasn't calm, and I knew it. It's terrible to say that you are something that you clearly aren't at all. It just felt like that that was all Light had to say to me, though, to "calm down." How the hell did he and the others manage to keep their emotions so leveled? With a serial killer on the loose? Seriously! They acted like this sort of thing happened every day.

The three of them gave a collective funny look, but only for a second or two. They had another lunatic more worthy of their attention. "Hey, don't you yell at Light!" barked Misa. That buttoned my yap.

"If this is calm, I'd hate to see what you're like in panic mode," sighed Light.

"You were speeding," scolded the cop, oblivious as all hell as to who he was talking to. "License, please?"

"Yeah, no problem," Higuchi replied, which almost killed me. As if he were a real cool-headed, understanding Mr. Niceguy. Like he wasn't just on his merry way to kill somebody.

"Switch all screens to Higuchi's car," ordered L, looking as fascinated as a cat unraveling a ball of yarn.

Higuchi sort of horsed around for a minute, groping the inside of his bag as if he were looking for his license when he really wasn't. I didn't know what he was doing, exactly, but I doubted he was getting his license. "Now, let's see…where did I put it…?" Really playing dumb and whatnot.

Then he punched it. He launched his car down the street like he had never punched it before, in a way that made Spongebob™ look like a safe driver, tires squealing like the four hundred-something horses it would've taken to power the engine. It was a miracle he didn't roll over the cop's damn feet on the way off!

"Higuchi ditched the cop," said Mogi. "He's driving away!"

Even from our limited perspective of the chase, the whole thing suddenly made me think back to all of those old fuzzy police videos they aired on those cheesy crime reality channels at home. I'd seen quite a bit of crazy shit on those programs, shit you'd have to have seen for yourself to know what I'm talking about. But let me just say for the record: nothing, I mean nothing, that I'd only seen on TV from the safety of my living room could compare to watching the real deal unfold in front of my eyes.

This felt like something fresh off of a newsreel. I'll admit: sometimes I'd envied the reporters who got to talk about breaking news like this firsthand, right on the scene and everything. Now that I'd been given my turn, though…well, I sure as hell didn't feel too awesome about it.

I kept asking myself: Is this real?

No. Not reality; actuality. Not trying to be cute, mind you.

…

Under the angry hum of a thousand vehicles speeding down the freeway or whatever, the cop's siren stopped wailing, punctuated by the faint but unmistakable sound of steel and glass colliding with steel. Gruesome enough to have my ears practically bleeding—that noise that noise I know that noise what the hell WAS that?—before Mogi cried out an explanation for it…the last thing I wanted to hear:

"That motorcycle cop just rear-ended that truck! He's DEAD!"

By then, Light's posture had gone rigid, his face a little pale. "He's dead? By accident?"

Misa cupped her hands over her mouth to suppress a scream. I wish I could've had that much control.

"This is very bad," L muttered, not batting an eyelash. "Very bad," my ass! I got this close to slamming him one just for that, I swear to God! I didn't, though. No, I settled for lunging right over him and yanking him up by his stupid shoulder, without even really thinking about it. What a thing to do to a major-league detective like L, but I…

My head split apart to dash in so many directions, even ones that I would've never guessed to have existed for it to go. I literally started to see double of L's hunched form dangling in my hand like a rag doll, his bangs forming a kind of shade over his face. He looked so pitiful down there for a second, I already felt sorry I'd done that to him. Not quite enough to let go of him, though. Or to stop from turning on the hysterics like the madwoman I'd turned into. Why the hell he didn't just jam his foot in my mouth, I never figured out. He kind of just…stayed down, not even taking his hands off of his knees.

I used my other rattling hand to jab at the screen, acid-hot tears streaming down my face with zero effort on my part to hold them back. "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT? HE DIDN'T HAVE HIS NAME; YOU SAID HE COULDN'T DO THAT WITHOUT HIS GODDAMN NAME! I TOLD YOU HE WAS GONNA HURT SOMEBODY! I TOLD YOU!" I howled, practically in his ear. The horrible part was that I wasn't even sure if Higuchi had anything to do with what happened to that cop. He didn't even have his name, after all. It could've been an accident, for all I knew. But Higuchi was Kira, or at least Kira's proxy. I wouldn't have put it past him to have had something to do with that…

I didn't know that cop at all. None of us did. But come on: "Traffic Cop Meets End on Rear End of Truck!" What did he do to Higuchi to have deserved that! What did Matsuda ever do to deserve to be next? Because if Higuchi had anything to do with that cop's death like I suspected, then it'd only be a matter of time before he got his hands on poor Matsuda. On anyone he thought was standing in the way. Inevitably, that included the task force. My friends.

Where the hell was the "justice" he liked to blather about?

Right then and there, I think I started to hate Kira. Loathe his faceless guts. For everything he did and stood for.

"Elin, let go of Ryuzaki!" barked Light, getting in between us. "You need to calm down." Imagine that: he tells me to calm down about somebody dying! What a hot one!

Believe it or not, I did let go. Mostly because that's when my chest started to hurt, like I had a screwdriver protruding from my heart, twisting painfully slow. I took my hand off of L to grip my chest as I sunk back into my chair, hanging my head so they wouldn't see me bawling. Not that that did much good; they could still hear me, for damn sure.

I…I don't really know what to call how I felt, to be honest. I felt like I was drowning. Just, drowning.

While I was down there, I somehow caught a glimpse of L's hands: no higher than that, no lower. Was it just me, or had his grip on his knees tightened? Seriously. It looked like he was really digging his fingers into his kneecaps. Like he was trying to hold something back.

…Was he freaking out about what'd happened to the cop, too? Was he thinking about whether Higuchi had anything to do with it? Or was he recovering from just having his ear screamed into?

…

He suddenly jolted upward. "Everyone! It's too dangerous to allow any further action by Higuchi! Let's bring him in! We still don't know how he kills, but we think he may have evidence on him! But be warned: I believe he has the same powers as the Second Kira; he is able to kill, just by looking at someone's face! Please keep this in mind when you move in to arrest him!"

Probably the smartest idea you'd come up with all night, L. Not to mention the first time I'd ever heard you speak using exclamation points. I only wish that somebody hadn't had to die before you came around.

"Watari, connect me to the director of the NPA."

"Yes."

…

"This is L. We are now aware of Kira's true identity. He is currently heading from Hibiya to Shibuya along Highway Route 1 in a red Porsche™, plate number 911. Our group will be handling the arrest. In the meantime, please instruct all officers to refrain from approaching his car. We have reason to believe that he's just killed a motorcycle officer..."

Without a doubt, those yahoos at the NPA would listen. After all, L had boundless control over just about every police force on the planet.

Now it was Light's turn to make a call: "All right. Dad, Higuchi's left Yoshida Productions and he's heading for the studio. During the next commercial break, take Measure Seven."

"Understood," said Mr. Yagami.

Measure Seven? More detective lingo, I assumed?

Maybe I shouldn't have asked—only because it'd make me look stupider than I already did, if that was possible—but you know: curiosity ran the dog over. "What 'Measure Seven?'" I managed to squeak.

"We're going to swap Matsuda and the MC with mannequins," Light explained, getting back whatever little nerve he might have lost moments ago. "We'll make it look as though the Sakura TV broadcast is continuing as normal using the voices we've already had prepared and keeping the cameras rolling. Higuchi will try to go to the studio, so we'll have had everyone evacuated."

Wow. One step ahead, as usual. Huh. What PS! Jesus, why couldn't they have done any of this sooner?

That's when L started to rise up on the seat of his chair. "So then, Light, what say you and I go join the fun, as well?"

"Yeah."

Fun? Those two were about to go out there where that madman Higuchi was, most likely to get killed by him! And they called it fun? Sometimes I didn't know whether to admire their courage or slap them into next week.

Where did that leave Misa and me, in the meantime? Well…

Click!

"Excuse me for doing this, Misa," said L as he slapped the handcuffs on the poor girl. "But I'm going to have to make sure you are restrained here for a while."

Boy, did the poor girl look beside herself. "WHAT? But that's…stop joking around!" He had her chained every which way into the chair in seconds flat, no joke! He did it so quickly, exactly where he'd pulled out those chains flew completely over my head. Whatever was left of it, anyway.

"Forget detecting," I grumbled. "You should sign up as one of those stupid cow wranglers. You'd be the king of the rodeo." I meant it, too. He sure was hot for restraints. "And Light can be your clown sidekick." Or maybe L could've been the clown sidekick. I mean, he'd have made a much better clown; he always had a pie in his face. Or cake, as it often was. But who was keeping track?

"Did you just call Misa a cow?" Misa demanded.

I kind of started wishing I hadn't said it when she asked that. When L had a reluctant Light go over to do the same thing to me, I really wished I hadn't said it.

"H-hey, what're you doing? Get offa me! What'd I do?" I snapped.

"For what it's worth, I'm not happy about doing this either. But this is only temporary."

I didn't put up much more resistance than that. My chest hurt so bad. In a brief rattle of chains, I was set right alongside Misa, hardly able to do much more than wiggle my fingers and toes, toss my head around some.

L seemed pretty hot for bondage, as long as it wasn't on him. One had to wonder if these were fetishes of his or something. Hey, if not a cow wrangler...

"Be a good girl, Misa," was all Light had to say to placate her. "Hold down the fort, okay?"

With a lopsided smile on her face, she nodded. "O-okay! Please be careful, Light! A-and Ryuzaki, you too!"

Just before the boys made tracks, L said something that twisted that imaginary screwdriver deeper into my heart. "If by any chance we don't return within the next twenty-four hours, someone will come here to release you."

Well I don't know how Misa took that, but that had me trying to whirl around and wheel my way after them, dragging my weight along by my heels. Light had bound my ankles together and all. "Oh-ho-ho, no you don't! Don't you dare think you can just leave us here like that, Crumb-Bum!" Maybe the name-calling wasn't necessary, but I couldn't help it. I was so mad, I was bawling all over again. As much as I wanted to spit in their eyes, as much as I wanted Higuchi caught, I would not stand to have those two jerks leave with the implication that they wouldn't be coming back.

I grunted, "Promise us that you're coming back! You're all coming back! All of you! Alive! Or—or—I won't let you leave!" A pretty bold thing to say, considering how I couldn't even get up myself. By that point, I wouldn't pay a mite's worth of attention to just about anything I said.

Light pinched the bridge of his nose, aggravated. "Come on Elin, we don't have time for this now," he huffed.

L, on the other hand, just grunted in response. Dragging Light along with him, he slunk over to take the back of my chair and wheel me back to my place beside Misa. By that point, my legs ached so much that I could hardly put up much of a fight. "I never said we would not be coming back, Elin. I only said, 'if by any chance.' That chance is very slim, I can assure you."

I turned my head to glare at his torso. "O-oh yeah? H-how slim?"

As he braked, he paused. Like he was trying to calculate that chance while I sat there glowering at his jaw.

Finally, he said, "Two percent, at most. We're taking the helicopter, and if worse comes to worst, Watari will be there with a rifle. So I believe you can afford to relax."

I still wouldn't look directly into his face. That was supposed to make me—wait a minute, he could pilot a chopper? And Watari was a sniper?

Another pause, then he made his voice all quiet, all of a sudden. He added something else, his last words for me to hang on before he and Light left the room, that stopped me before I could demand a more detailed explanation. Two little words that I had never, ever before heard out of him since the day we'd met.

"I'm sorry."


	20. Monster

They didn't come back for about two hours. Could've been less or more than that, but I'd lost track of the time as soon as I'd seen the doors crush their backsides out of view. For all I knew and cared, it could've been two days, two weeks, two months, two years, two decades, two goddamn centuries, even. Every second ticked by like a heartbeat: fast, forceful, irretrievable.

"I'm sorry." 

My ears had been buzzing so much, the whole night; had I heard him right? L seemed to have had a habit of getting all quiet when he said things I would've never expected to hear out of him. He never used those two words together in the same sentence before, not to me, at least. He'd never seemed like the type.

Sadly, I could find no translation for what he said. How did he manage to take two little everyman words and mangle them to the point where it felt like I needed to whip out a dictionary, just to figure out what the hell he'd meant? He had quite the talent of doing that. L was a man of many talents.

What could he have possibly been sorry for, to the point where he'd actually come out and say so? "I'm sorry you were subjected to all that"? "I'm sorry I have to tie you up like a lunatic"? "I'm sorry I'm such a jerk"? "I'm sorry you're such a wuss"? 

Oh, for all I knew, maybe he hadn't even been apologizing for anything. Maybe I was thinking too much into it? I mean, when did he start caring about how I felt? When did he start caring about how anyone felt? He could've just said that to shut me up. If that'd been his intention, he'd succeeded. For awhile, anyway.

For about the first twenty minutes, give or take five, I sat lurched over in that chair as far as my restraints would allow—which wasn't very much—with my head hung down, like it'd suddenly become too heavy to hold up. Every inch of me felt heavy, like a soaked washcloth fished out from the bottom of a sink that no one had bothered to wring out.

I chewed on it until I got sick of chewing. By that point, trying to figure out what he'd meant by "I'm sorry" had become as worthless as chewing gum: it gave me something to distract me from the crisis at hand, but only temporarily, just until I'd chewed out all of the flavor and was left with a disgusting, rubber-tasting blob sticking in my throat, none the more satisfied because I'd come up with nothing. Like I always did when it came to L.

I sure didn't feel any better. In fact, as soon as I gave up trying to translate what he'd said, I got back right back to mewling, again: the most unproductive thing I could ever do at a time like that, but that didn't stop me. What else did I have going for me?

My fists clenched until circulation ran trickle-thin through my fingers. The chains were starting to chafe something fierce. Oh God, please bring him back. Bring them ALL back. For a minute, I cursed him, both of them, for cuffing me. My chest hurt so bad; it begged for a hand to clench over it, even if it wouldn't have done much to dull the pain.

What was worse, my whimpering had become virtually the only sound in the whole damn room. Those jerks had turned all of the monitors off before they'd left, so now I couldn't see what the hell was going on, anymore.

What, was he worried I'd have a panic attack if I'd kept watching with no "supervision?" Well, he'd thought dead wrong. For once. I would've much rather kept watching everything than be left to wonder, dread what the hell Higuchi was going to do next, now that he'd somehow gained the ability to kill with just a stupid face. For that reason, I found something even more foreboding about staring into a black screen than into Higuchi's slasher face.

For her, Misa had been pretty quiet since the boys left us bound together like a couple of madwomen…well, one of us was mad, at least. It amazed me, how patient she seemed, in spite of the handcuffs and everything, like a good girl waiting for her boyfriend to come home on leave from the military. In a way, I had to admire that: the girl was tougher than she looked, which was more than what I could say for myself. I had a good three or four inches on her, but no backbone, make no mistake.

I could feel her looking me over. "There's no need to cry, Elin," she told me, as gently as she could. "They'll come back; just have faith. They know what they're doing. Light always does, at least, and Ryuzaki, too." She always talked about Light as though he were the ringleader of this circus. Though I guess I couldn't say L had total control over everything, either (as much as he acted like he did). They kind of both did, really: joined together not just by crummy handcuffs, but by a kind of superior intellect—and ego—not found most anywhere else, in the real world, at any rate. They could've been Siamese twins, for all I cared. Or at the very least, a married couple. God knew they loved to fight like one.

Not that Misa would've liked that. If she'd had her way, they'd be divorced in a heartbeat, no questions asked.

Thing was, I did want to stop crying. But it wasn't like I could stop on a dime, once I got started. No one can. I couldn't even look back at her; I looked like crap. I felt like crap, anyway. My head split a little wider with every tear I shed.

Eventually, I heard the wheels of Misa's chair scoot across the linoleum until I could see her bound feet planting themselves right next to my own. "Psst, Elin, turn around."

Having no energy to fight with her, I complied, spinning my chair around by my weight until I found us face-to-face. "Y-yeah?"

With a soft smile weaving into her lips, Misa, God love her, leaned in—as far as the chains would let her—to slip her fingers between my own, in spite of the handcuffs. Seeing that she could've used a little help reaching me, I leaned in as far as I could go to wedge my fingers between hers, by that point jonesing for some kind of comfort, no matter how awkward or uncomfortable. Boy, we must've been a sight, provided that there was a soul in the building to be a sight for.

"Everything will be okay," said Misa. "Don't you doubt that for a second."

Of course, I didn't stop crying right then and there, but I did start simmering down. Before long, my bawling had ebbed into quiet sniffling. Something else ate up my mind like a baloney sandwich, from the crusts inward.

"But…but it doesn't make a mite's worth of sense. Where did—where'd Higuchi suddenly get the power t-to kill with just a face?"

I don't know why I started blathering about that to Misa, who looked about as clueless about the whole mess as I felt. But hey, I had to say something, to someone who would listen. Journalists always asked questions, never mind whether they were even worth asking.

Misa shrugged, still not letting go of my hands. "Misa wishes she knew, Elin. But Misa wouldn't worry about that, either. Light and the others will probably have it all figured out in no time."

Well, who knew when they would? Provided that Higuchi hadn't all wiped them—

I rattled my head. Stop it, Erin! Don't think like that! 

I rolled my eyes up towards the high ceiling, trying my damnedest to rake every ounce of rational thought back together. Boy, was my voice shaking, like I had a wishbone caught in my throat. "He…he says, 'Let's make the deal, Rem, old buddy, old chum'…and just minutes later, he massacres that cop. Without even g-getting his g-g-goddamn name…"

Misa arched an eyebrow. "He didn't say it like that."

"Yeah, yeah, maybe not in those exact words, but basically," I huffed. I wasn't too sure how much the two incidents were related; they could've been strict coincidences, for all I knew. But I would jump on just about anything that looked like a lead, by that point. After all, that had been the last thing he'd done before that poor, unsuspecting cop had pulled him over—and in the process, pulled himself over to his fate.

I was really going out on a limb here—probably the farthest I'd ever gone before in my life, I knew that—but…had his imaginary friend "Rem" helped him to kill that cop, somehow? But if they did…wouldn't that mean "Rem" wasn't so imaginary, after all?

Aww, who the fuck is Rem, anyhow? Who the fuck's he been talking to, all night? A shudder banged on my backbone like mallets on a xylophone. I didn't like where this was going, not one bit. Something stank, the way most things did when they smelled like sensationalism. Like low tide and dirty diapers. And old cheese from the back of the fridge.

Oh hell, but just about everything about this stupid case reeked of sensationalism, didn't it?

Shinigami…L kept talking about shinigami, all of a sudden…where have I heard that word, before? I know I have! But, where…?

My blurred gaze drifted back from the piercing glare of the overhead lights to Misa's. The way I figured it, Misa was Japanese and everything. Maybe she could enlighten me…?

"Misa?"

"Yeah?"

"You're Japanese, aren't you?"

Had her hands not been cuffed and tangled in mine, she might've scratched her head. "Last that Misa checked, yeah."

"You wouldn't…uh…"

I took a deep, steadying breath through the nose. Just so I wouldn't lose my guts, I popped the question in practically the same breath: "Youwouldn'thappentoknowanythingaboutshinigamiwouldyou?"

Of course, Misa didn't catch that the first time around. "Huh?"

Cursing as quietly as possible under my breath, I popped it again: a little slower, the second time around, but nonetheless shaky. "Would you happen to know anything about shinigami? Ryuzaki's been using that word, all night. What did he mean by that, d'ya think?"

Her hands suddenly felt so clammy in my own. She let go of me as soon as I finished asking and used her weight to push herself way the hell across the room, grinning at me the entire time. I didn't like that abrupt grin she had on, like I'd just spooked the crap out of her or something. A phony grin.

"Where on earth do you come up with this stuff, Elin?" she tittered. "We both know that Ryuzaki's nuts! Now here you go, spouting the same garbage he is! Don't tell me that you agree with him or something."

"I-I'm not saying that I agree with him. I just wanna know why he kept mentioning shinigami, all of a sudden, is all. He said that this 'Rem' character Higuchi kept referring to could be a shinigami, so what the hell's a shinigami? Any juicy native lore behind that, do you know?"

Every time I said that word, I thought I could see the corner of her eye twitch a little.

Misa wiggled her fingers in mockery. "Ha! I swear, you two are so crazy, it's sooo obvious that you're meant to be."

I swear, my face must've burned so brightly, they could've used it as the chief signal for the Red Light District. I really didn't want to think about that, right now, much less talk about it. So, I passed it on the wayside. I couldn't afford any distracting hitchhikers. "W-well, what does 'shinigami' even mean?"

Misa glanced up towards the ceiling in apparently deep concentration. You wouldn't believe the answer she threw back. "It must be what Higuchi calls his 'imaginary friend.' I wouldn't expect Higuchi to have any real friends," she scoffed.

I almost crashed face-down on the linoleum, chair and all. How lucky that I didn't, or else I would've never gotten back up. That just didn't sound right. What, did Misa think my Japanese was still mediocre? All right, so it wasn't perfect, but I could recognize what the parts of the word each meant. I mean, when I gave myself time to chew on it.

Death…god…death god? Is that what it means? 

What was that, some kind of funky Japanese demon or something, then? My train of thought began to race faster than before; I could practically feel it chugging around in my brain, the exhaust fumes floating out of my ears in fat puffs.

…Have I read something about that, somewhere? 

Memory is a terrific thing, boy. It can take you to hell, it can take you to heaven, or it can just not take you anywhere, like a busted engine. It never totally works when you want it to; at least, that'd always been my experience. I always had to rely on cues before ever coming to that big, dumb, euphoric "Ohhh!" moment, for the helpful things, the important things, and by then, it was usually too late for it to matter.

As a matter of fact, I had read something about shinigami, several months back when I'd still been going to school. But since my investigation hadn't come up with anything worth a lick, I'd sort of abandoned it, put it out of my mind. I had no room for it, accounting for everything else that had happened since then.

But now…

My fingers and toes started to curl underneath that tingle, my journalist senses. I couldn't remember another time when they came on stronger, almost to the point where they terrified me. Here I was, crossing into uncharted frontier, ugly territory, where the Wild Things™ were. And this quivering feeling in my liver told me that these Wild Things™ weren't too damn friendly. Any further, and you could scribble "wacko conspiracy theorist" on my forehead and put me away.

In a way, I actually started feeling grateful that I'd been chained to the chair and all. I felt like I was ready to have a stupid seizure, for Christ's sake.

Was "Rem" really a shinigami? 

Was it helping Higuchi carry out his murders, somehow? Like…one of those cliché "sell-your-soul-to-the-Devil" deals? 

He'd said something about a notebook…a bunch of times. He writes down Matsuda's name in that stupid notebook of his, then a minute later, expects him to drop dead. 

What the hell, then? Did old Higuchi sell his soul for a crummy magic notebook? Oh boy! What a zinger, I thought with amusement I didn't at all feel. In fact, I couldn't describe how I felt while Misa and I waited in stony silence for the team to come back, which by itself was absolute torture. Especially since Misa had resigned herself to pretty much the other side of the room, not holding my hands, not even speaking to me. Which made no sense to me whatsoever; all I'd done was ask if she knew anything about shinigami. Either she didn't want to talk about it for some reason—assuming that shinigami were real and therefore worth talking about—or she just didn't know anything.

Why the hell didn't she just say so if she didn't know? Girl could be awfully touchy for no apparent reason, or a good one, for that matter.

I felt just about anything under the rainbow but amused.

Here's the terrible part, though. When I thought back on that dumb notebook, I'd mostly meant it as a poorly aimed joke.

I hadn't expected it to come true.

…

I don't think I need to say what kind of mood I was thrust into as soon as the soft swishing of the doors whispered into my ears. Let's just say that had I been a bomb, I would've completed countdown right there and blown clear out of my restraints…possibly out of the whole building entirely, with everyone in it. Which would've…sucked.

Sure enough, when I whirled around to see everyone—everyone; I even counted heads to make sure—my very first reaction was forcing my weight forward to scoot all the way across the room on my heels like a whimpering puppy. A puppy chained to a chair, that is, too overcome to see them all alive and on their feet to care how pathetic I must've looked.

"Matsu! Y-you're okay!" 

Matsuda, my buddy, sheepish grin and all, was the first one I reunited with, of course. If I'd had it my way, I would've gathered the whole lot of them into a hug, complete with fuzzies and rainbows and tons of glitter. But, since I didn't, I locked my already-locked arms around his neck and cried into his shoulder when he bent in to give me a hug. He was the only one to reach out to give me a hug.

"Didn't I tell you? It's always best to hope for the best," he muttered, a little too half-heartedly for him. I hardly ever heard him sound so wooden.

I didn't like the stony looks everyone else had on when I peered up to blink out any excessive tears. No one was in the mood for a warm team reunion, but that wasn't the point. Something had happened. Something awful.

I only unhooked myself off of Matsuda when he started making choking noises. "Uh…Elin? If it's okay…you're s-sort of breaking my neck."

I perked up when I noticed a new—yet at the same time, familiar—face emerging into view. I could recognize that 'fro from half a district away. God, had I missed it!

"Aizawa! You're back!" I squealed. I was a sap, I swear to God. I wouldn't openly admit to it—without a little pressure—but you'd just have to watch me. I was a sap, if you'd ever seen one.

Aizawa slipped me a mildly uneasy look; it looked like it'd hurt him or something to hold up his hand in greeting. "Er, nice to see you again, as well."

"How've the Mrs. and kids been? Are you back forever?" I asked him with hopeful eyes. "All water under the bridge, then?"

"Erm…sure. I suppose. And the family's fine, thank you for asking."

I found it a wonder that I didn't start screaming, "Yabba-dabba-doo!" 

"Oh Elin, you should've been there! Aizawa and the police had a blockade set up without us knowing, a-and then the helicopter, and Watari...oh man!"

"Aw, what? Man, I really do wish I coulda seen that! But Light and Ryuzaki turned off all the monitors before they left. Now I feel cheated! Well, don't just leave me hanging! Get me outta this chair, somebody!" In spite of the thick apprehension, I felt as if this night couldn't get any better. I mean, everyone had returned safely, good ol' Aizawa had rejoined the band, he and the cops hadn't totally turned their backs on us after all…at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to hug every last person in the room.

As it turned out, I was right. The night couldn't get any better.

It got worse, instead. Fast.

Mr. Yagami came in with a hand clutched around his upper arm, with Wedy, Aiber and Mogi alongside him. He focused on the floor to keep his grimace out of view, while Wedy muttered what I could've sworn was a terse thank-you, "for taking that bullet for me." Coming from a lady who wasn't naturally inclined to like cops, it was weird to hear her say that. In a good way.

Wait. "Taking that bullet?"

...

Dear God, just how apeshit did Higuchi get on them out there?

"M-Mr. Y.? You okay?" I squeaked.

Mr. Yagami looked up with the straightest face he could muster. Men weren't supposed to show pain, and especially not detectives. "Ah, don't worry about it, really. It's just a scratch."

Then Light and L came over with Light leading the way: kind of unusual, in and of itself. Most of the time for the past couple of months, it'd been L leading the way. When Light wordlessly leaned in to undo the chains binding me to the chair, I noticed something tucked under his arm. A book. A black notebook, strikingly similar to the one Higuchi had had with him.

"Light!" Misa called from her spot across the room, squirming with anxiety. "Why're you letting Elin go first? Let Misa out first! Misa's been a good girl, the whole time you were gone, just like you asked! All Elin did the whole time was cry, even though Misa tried to stop her."

If that notebook hadn't piqued my interest so damn much, I might've taken more offense to that. I hadn't cried for that long: half of the time, maybe, but not the whole time. And not consecutively, either.

"Hey, Light," I asked him. "What's that under your arm?" I wiggled my pointer finger at it. "That kinda looks like that notebook Higuchi had with him." I reached out to take it, only to have Light pull away. I was lucky just to have my fingertips skim over the edge of the pages, and get a papercut.

"Don't touch it, Elin," Light said sternly.

"Why not?" I whined. "I just want a peek. Is that evidence, or something?"

Light looked down towards the book under his arm. "It's not just that. What we have here…is a murder weapon."

That part kind of skimmed over my head, though not without leaving an impression. A statement that outrageous couldn't possibly not leave an impression on someone, even someone like me. Just when my head was in the process of sealing itself back together, it began to split again, almost worse than before.

I shot him a stupid cross-eyed look. "What are you talking about? You still exhausted from the heat of the chase? Whoa, wait…"

I just remembered something, right then: the reason we had gone on that chase, in the first place. "Wh-where's Higuchi? What happened to Higuchi, that dirty ba-aaaaaaa—"

While I tried to ask about that crook, right in mid-sentence, I caught a glimpse beyond Light's shoulder. Don't ask me how I hadn't noticed the new figure standing at the back before that point, but I became conscious of two, and only two, things.

One: it was the last thing I'd see.

Two: it was not human, or anything that looked remotely earthly.

…

Splash! 

Next thing I knew, I found myself snorting water out of my mouth and nostrils. Rubbing my eyes raw and dry with my knuckles, butterflies in the head, bees in the stomach, I sputtered, "H-hey! Wh-what's g-g-going on? The hell'sa matter with you?"

Somehow, I'd wound up on my ass on the floor; boy, did my face hurt, and not just from the cold sting of the water. It throbbed, like I'd just skid it over the linoleum on the way down from the chair to the floor. The whole right side of my body burned.

"Oh, thank God, you're okay!" cheered Matsuda from somewhere behind me.

"Of course, she's fine, Matsuda," said Light's voice, wearily. "It's like I told you: she just fainted."

Oh, no, I'd fainted? If I'd said it once already, I'd say it again: I was the Queen of the Weenies. I couldn't even remember why I'd fainted, to begin with, for a second there.

The first face I saw when I finally managed to blink out the blur in my vision was Light's, though L's mug came in for a close second. "Are you all right, Elin?" he asked me, offering a hand to help me stand up. "Can you get up?"

I didn't answer him, right away. The butterflies in my head took bits and pieces of my brain on their way out of my ears.

"…Yeah. I…I think so. Uh…ugh…what happened?" I asked, a feeble hand reaching up to cup over the side of my head.

Light gave a mildly irritated look. "You fainted."

"Why?" Most intelligent thing I'd asked all night, boy.

"Assuming that you touched the notebook," said L, "you recognized the shinigami attached to it, underwent an acute stress reaction, and lost consciousness." After a brief pause, he added, "You seem to have a habit of doing that."

Just hearing that damn word again—"shinigami"—geared me up for an aneurysm. With a fist clutching my chest in a vain attempt to stop my shivering, I sputtered, "A what? What'd you say was—you guys brought a—sorry, I don't—I don't think I caught—wh-wh-what shinigami?"

L's eyes rolled all the way to the ceiling and back as he pointed a spidery finger in the direction towards the desk. "This shinigami," he muttered, like a bored little kid pointing out a dead goldfish floating on the surface of an aquarium. "Can you see it?"

Don't ask me how I missed it, again, but God, when I got a longer look at the beast looming in between Mogi and Aizawa, I immediately started wishing I hadn't caught it. This…this thing was white, spiny, like a skeleton bound together by a couple of tendons and withered muscle here and there, with purplish tentacle-like locks draping over its face in tendrils, like the snakes that made up that one monster's hair. Medusa?

Not to mention, the mother was huge, at least a head taller than even Mogi! And believe me, old Mogi was a big guy, the tallest and stockiest of all of us.

I might as well have turned to stone, just by looking it in its one beady, yellow reptilian eye, while it stared back at me with its mouth agape, its lips as purple as oxygen-poor blood.

But did L look freaked out at all? What do you think? He never got freaked out, it seemed, not even when presented with the freakout to end all freakouts. But then, when you're the practical king of the freakouts, I guess it'd be tough to find something else that could make you quake in your boots (provided that he even wore shoes).

He cocked his head. "By the look on your face, I am correct in assuming that you do in fact see it?"

I answered him in the most logical, rational way someone in my position could respond.

…

Splash! 

The relentless slap of a second dousing of cold water replaced the numbness from seconds before. Skipping over all of the minute details about how I got back into focus—because let's face it, I didn't really get back into focus, or else I wouldn't have kept tuning out so damn much—I found L up in my face, this time, his void-like gaze almost enough to have me back on the floor, again. 

"I believe I have developed a theory on your constant dunderheadedness: a history of self-inflicted head trauma," he proposed with a thumb pressed to his bottom lip. "How odd that your medical records made no mention of this…"

I wanted to yell at him, "I'm not a dunderhead; I'm just yellow!" But I don't think that would've helped me save too much face. How shameful: fainting twice over the span of, what, ten minutes, in one night? When I'd first found out that L was L, I'd only fainted once, for God's sake. Once too many, but once, nonetheless.

But had that really been all my fault? My nerves were shot to hell, they really were. No, I didn't faint a third time when I returned face-to-face with the big white thing, thank God.

I did something else, instead. By L's standards, I did something just about unspeakable.

Wobbling backwards on my heels, I quick made a crucifix sign with my pointer fingers out in front of me, fighting not to look directly into the thing's eye for fear of turning into a lump of granite. "The hell is that thing? S-s-st-stay back! Stay back!" I barked at it, shuffling way the hell across the room until my back touched the edge of the desk. At the moment of impact, I started fumbling around behind me for something to fight the thing back with, like holy water or something, even though it hadn't made a single movement that could qualify as predatory since I'd first laid eyes on it.

Since we had no holy water around, however, I wound up seizing the next best thing: tea. L's tea, to be exact. I could always count on that to be there when I needed it. As soon as my fingers hooked around the handle of the kettle, I lunged toward the thing with a kind of bravado that both terrified and shamed me, had I been a bystander watching the whole thing.

"The power of Christ compels you!" I cried like one of those hysterical Evangelical priests I'd seen on TV, as I tore off the lid and tossed the piping hot beverage into the thing's direction, while Aizawa and Mogi hastily sidestepped out of the way. I honestly don't know why I thought that would work, somehow. I'd seen those priest guys slap poor saps around on TV with Bibles and stuff in order to "cure them of their demons" and all, and as ugly as those deals usually got, it'd looked like it worked.

Then again…that was TV. When did TV ever run on the same wavelength as reality? Reality sure did a terrific job running on TV's wavelength, though, if you know what I mean.

Splash!

The tea didn't leave a scratch! It sailed right through the thing like it were just sailing through air, or a phantom, before splashing into a great black, hissing puddle on the linoleum behind it. Why I hadn't seen that coming, I never figured out.

At any rate, if I'd pissed it off, it did a great job hiding it. The thing didn't fly off the handle, like I'd expected any old monster to do (blame the movies for that, too). It just stood there, continuing to stare at me with a gawking, almost puzzled kind of look, the most movement it'd ever made being a slight cock of its Medusa-like head. I could see the stitch-like parts attaching its head to its neck stretch a little, in the process.

"See, Light? Misa has never done that! 'Cause Misa's a good girl!" said Misa, jabbing both pointer fingers in my direction like I were a dunce or something. I might as well have been.

It almost killed me right on the spot when the thing moved its lips to hiss at me, "You're wasting your time, I'm afraid. No earthly weapon can harm a shinigami, be it a gun or a knife…or the 'power of Christ,' as you call it." For a monster, it was pretty soft-spoken.

"Gaaah…y—you can talk? This thing c-c-c-can talk?" 

"It's Rem. Call me Rem."

Rem…"Rem, what do you think?"…"Rem, I didn't think you were so smart."…"Rem, let's make the deal."…

…

Oh my God.

No way. 

L had been right, the whole time. As usual.

"Shinigami: Exposed!" Brother, what a hoot! Sounds like something fresh out of a rag mag you'd find on the shelf at a supermarket checkout counter, doesn't it? Yeah. Only difference was, I was looking at the real deal, right here. Can't say I felt too damn excited, though. That's the last thing I felt.

Like it would do me any good, I started waving the kettle around in front of me like a sword or something, preparing to climb right on top of the desk, if I had to. "Y-y-you're Rem? Y-you're the one H-Higuchi's been rambling to, the whole time? Does that mean you helped him…"

Again without even really thinking about it, I stretched out my arm as far as I could go for the spout of the kettle to point in Rem's direction. "That settles it, then! Book 'im, Ryuzaki! The shinigami is Kira, it's so obvious! The original Kira!" I had no idea how the team could arrest a monster who they couldn't put the cuffs on if they'd tried, but by that point, I just wanted somebody booked, already. Why not the thing that gave Higuchi the power, in the first place?

On the other hand…for someone who had been "possessed" by a shinigami, Higuchi had looked like he'd been the one calling the shots, from the whole we'd been watching him in his car. Like every decision he'd ever made—rational or irrational, mostly irrational—had been one hundred percent his own, and that "Rem" had only been there for moral support, in the loosest sense of the term.

Speaking of Higuchi…where the hell was he?

"Actually, I am female," Rem corrected quietly. Jesus Christ, these things even had genders?

"Nnngh! Ah, wh-whatever! Book her, Ryuzaki!"

Did they take my word for it? Hell no, they didn't. I wasn't sure if even I would take my word for it. Aizawa face-palmed. Mogi shook his head. Mr. Yagami groaned. While I stood there all sweaty and wobbly-kneed, gasping for air, kettle precariously dangling off of my fingertips, L said, "That'll be enough, Elin. Go to your room."

"H-huh? Bu—but why?" I demanded. Like I didn't already know. "What're you, my mom? How can you expect me to go up to my stupid room at a time like—"

"Go to your room. Now. Mr. Mogi, please take Miss Crocker to her room while we set up. We must examine this notebook as thoroughly as possible." Without even giving me a say on the matter, naturally.

One of the things about L was, he never raised his voice when he got mad. I'd never heard him, anyway. But that didn't mean he couldn't be scary when he got sore. He'd just get all quiet, dark and venomous, instead, as though he'd already be cooking up a plan to get back at you, somehow. In his own way, he could scare me worse than a guy who flat out screamed his head off.

I bet that was the only reason he'd finally sent me to my room. Go figure: he wouldn't bat an eyelash about bringing home a monster and a cursed notebook, but mess with the guy's tea like I had and man, he might just hate you forever. Or maybe he just didn't like how I'd tried to bark orders at him about booking the shinigami and all. At any rate whatever he'd apologized for earlier—assuming that he really had been apologizing for something—he must've gotten over it.

Well that, and I guess the hysterics probably would've gotten in the way of their investigating the dumb notebook, even if the thing was pretty much beyond all science and pseudoscience.

But that wouldn't be the end. Little did we know, things were only just starting to tumble downhill.

…

Funny thing, looking back at old Rem: for some reason the more exposure I got of her, I couldn't help but feel a faint but eerie sense of recognition that made my liver quiver. Like…I'd seen her from somewhere before.


	21. Confusion

"It's possible that Higuchi committed suicide," muttered Mr. Yagami gravely. "Having had the power to kill other people, it wouldn't be strange if he wanted to kill himself in order to avoid giving a confession."

"B-but you kill by writing names down in the notebook," said Matsuda. "So, in order to kill yourself, wouldn't you have to put down your own name? If he could die by his own will, isn't it strange that he'd tried to shoot himself when we cornered him?"

"Not really. Death by shooting himself would've been far less painful than death by a heart attack."

How was I listening in on all of this if L had sent me to my room? Simple: Mogi had escorted me up to my room and all, but he couldn't stay, not when everyone on the team needed to be present for the examination of the notebook. As soon as I was sure he was gone, I'd snuck back downstairs, hoping to try to make peace with L for what I'd done with his tea earlier. I couldn't say I liked the idea of his hating me forever over something like that.

So, there I was, crouched right outside the door, listening in on yet another juicy tidbit of the Kira case. Well, no, I wouldn't use the word "juicy." In fact, I felt like throwing up, just from listening. I honestly started to wish I hadn't come down. I realize that I could've just split at any time; that probably would've been the smartest thing I'd done all night. But I didn't. Damn me and my journalistic instincts.

"Was it coincidence?" Mr. Yagami wondered aloud. "A suicide? Another Kira…or the shinigami? Well, which was it, shinigami?"

"It's Rem," hissed Rem, "and I did not kill Higuchi. Nor do I know why he died."

Wait. So…that was it? Ding-dong, Higuchi was…dead? 

Well, I can't say that he hadn't deserved whatever had happened to him, which apparently had been a classic heart attack, assailant unknown. But at the same time…I don't know. I'd always thought that when the bad guy died, I should do a victory dance, even if it hadn't been my battle. I'd have thought I'd be clicking my heels upon finding out that Higuchi had suffered the same fate he had put other people through.

But now that it'd happened, I sure didn't feel like clicking my heels, or even cracking a smirk. Instead, I reached up to wipe my eyes dry on my sleeve, too scared to breathe for fear of it chugging out in more sobbing. I felt kind of…sorry for the poor bastard, to be honest. I wasn't sure whether or not I was supposed to feel that way, but I did. Especially when I'd heard the part where he'd tried to blow his brains out; that killed me. Thinking about how desperate he must've looked underneath the helicopter's spotlight, back pressed to the wall, finally realizing how screwed he truly was even with a deadly notebook…

Besides that, his death wouldn't bring back any of the lives he had taken. In a way, the whole thing felt pointless, an utter tragedy.

If only I'd known how much more tragic things were about to get…

Aizawa started to sound as though he were reading directly from the dumb notebook. "There are rules written inside the cover," he murmured. "'How to Use It'...it says that the human whose name is written in this notebook shall die." 

For every rule he went over, my heart skipped a beat. By the time he was finished, I found it a blue-eyed miracle I hadn't flat-out keeled over.

"This note will not take effect unless the writer has the person's face in their mind while writing his or her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected. 

"If the cause of death is written within forty seconds of writing the person's name, it will happen. If the cause of death is not specified, the person will simply die of a heart attack. 

"After writing the cause of death, details of the death should be written within the next six minutes and forty seconds."

Okay, seriously, who wrote this slop? I kept asking myself that, the more I heard, even though I knew I would never get an answer to that. Who wrote this PS, some teacup-collecting shut-in? What the hell had he been smoking? Whatever he'd been toasted on, they ought to have had a ban on it. I was all for open-mindedness, but come on people, there's got to be a limit!

My fist clenched against the doorway until it turned almost as white as Rem. "Killer Notebooks and Shinigami: EXPOSED!" Aside from wigged out of my mind—provided I still had one—for some reason, that almost got me fighting mad. Something just didn't sound fair about having the murder weapon of the story of the century turn out to be something that no sane person would ever imagine. Or even have a prayer at defending themselves against! I mean, with a little luck and effort, a person could probably survive a shooting, or a stabbing, or poison, or even an explosion. But this notebook took just about all chances of survival away from its victims.

How could someone stand to do that? Take away lives that were powerless to resist, never mind whether they even deserved it? On such a massive scale…

As a journalist, I would normally discourage the abuse of stationary and other writing utensils. But I swear to God, my very first thought as soon as I'd heard this much on the notebook was, Burn it! Burn the motherfucker and let's be done with it! Had I not known better, I would've screamed it right from my side of the door.

"The names of criminals written here correspond to the TV broadcast order," said Aizawa. "All the names of people whose deaths would have benefited Yotsuba are in here, too. The content for the 'rules of killing' from those meetings and materials also match up. But I can't find anything related to the deaths that occurred before Higuchi started killing..."

Something told me that maybe, maybe, Rem hadn't had as much control over that madman Higuchi as I'd initially thought. For one, the rules made it sound as though any old Joe could use the notebook, with or without a shinigami's influence. The issue of killing criminals aside, what kind of shinigami would force a guy to kill people for the benefit of that guy's company? The shinigami would have nothing to gain from it, would it? Unless it, like, got power from it or something. But couldn't the shinigami do the deed itself, then, if that were the case?

But if Rem hadn't influenced Higuchi's decisions to kill, what the hell was she around for? Was she a motivational coach for him, or something?

"The back cover has more instructions on how to use it," Aizawa continued. "There are two more rules…"

That alone had me bracing myself for a heart attack.

"One of them is, if you make this note unusable by tearing it up or burning it, all the humans who have touched the note until then will die."

As though the Fates had overheard me and decided to flip me the bird.

It sounded like I wasn't the only one whose eyeballs had popped out of their sockets. "What?" cried Matsuda. "Is that really true, Aizawa?"

"Yeah, that's what it says."

"N-no way! That sucks! Why didn't you tell me that before I touched it?"

"How was I supposed to know?" Aizawa snapped. "I didn't exactly go through it before giving it to you, idiot!" Boy, I found something kind of nostalgic about those two bickering like that, in spite of everything. Back in the good old days, Aizawa used to talk to Matsuda like that virtually all of the time. I hadn't liked it, of course, but listening to them now, I felt a weird, warm sense of completion, the kind you might feel when all your good buddies have gathered at your place to hang out, catch up, some.

The way Aizawa was acting, you might have never fathomed how relieved he actually was that everyone was as they were when he'd left. Alive. According to Matsuda, "the reunion was really awkward." He wouldn't say much more about it; the way Aizawa was looking at him might've had something to with that. Male pride and all.

But I had no time to dwell on the sentimental. Burning the notebook had just been thrown out into the cold.

"Oh man!" moaned Matsuda. "Maybe I shouldn't have let my curiosity about seeing a shinigami get the better of me." My thoughts, exactly, my friend. After all, I'd touched it too, out of my own insatiable curiosity. And got a paper cut while I was at it.

"Maybe," said Mr. Yagami, "but then you would be the only one in the investigation who wouldn't know what we were dealing with. Is that what you want?" Mr. Yagami used to chide Matsuda a lot, too. Some things never change.

"Uhhh…no, of course not! I wanna be on the same page as everyone else on the task force, Chief!"

"There goes getting rid of this thing, then. For the time being, we'll just have to lock it up here. We're the only ones who know this thing exists, and with all this security, it should be safe."

With that out of the way, Aizawa weathered out the shocker…with an even bigger shocker. The godfather of all shockers, in fact. "And then…there's this last rule. According to these instructions in the back of the notebook, if the person using the note fails to consecutively write names of people to be killed with thirteen days of each other, then the user will die."

…

Within thirteen days of each other, huh?

…

Hold on. If that was the rule, then wouldn't that mean—?

"Wait a second! If that's true, then that means Light and Misa-Misa are completely cleared, right?" cheered Matsuda.

The group shared a thoughtful grunt. "Yeah," said Aizawa. "Now that you mention it, that's right. Light and Misa were detained for more than fifty days and are still under surveillance."

And still manage to keep their sanity intact…

"If either of them had been Kira, there's no way they would still be alive, by now." Just by the way the man's voice lifted, how all their voices lifted, I could tell that the burden that'd been weighing them down for the longest time had finally been lifted. Even I couldn't help but feel faint in the head with relief; I had to prop myself up against the door by the shoulder just to steady myself! Hot damn!

"Wow! That's great news, isn't it, Chief?"

"Yeah," sighed Mr. Yagami, who was without a doubt the most relieved of all of us. "Thank God." The way he said that, it was like he'd been holding his breath for all this time, probably since this whole thing started, and could finally let go of it.

But guess who was the only one in the room not saying, "Phew!"?

"Rem, was it?" asked L (who else?), who hadn't said much of anything since the gang had returned to headquarters. "That's your name, isn't it: the white thing, over there?" "White thing," he says! That killed me. In normal society where we came from, he could get arrested for saying something like that! Or at least, get sued. Guy might've been a mega-mad-genius, but when it came to social graces…do I have to say it?

Matsuda choked, "R-Ryuzaki, isn't it kinda rude to go around calling someone a 'white thing?'" I guess he was afraid Rem would start sucking out all their marrow or something. Frankly, so was I, in a way. She didn't, though; didn't sound like it, at least. For a monster that used to hang out with a dirty monkey like Higuchi, she was actually pretty cool-headed. I credited her for that much.

"What do you want?"

"There's more than one notebook in the human world, isn't there?"

Huh? Why would L go ask a question like that? Well, I knew why he'd keep asking questions. Even if the evidence so emphatically stated otherwise, he never dropped his suspicions. Not completely. What struck me as curious was why he was suddenly asking about other notebooks, in particular.

There was a pause before Rem fired an answer. "Who knows? There may be, or there may not be," she replied, pretty passive for a monster. "I am only required to mind this one."

"If there are other notebooks, either here or in your world, would they all have the same rules as this one?"

Rem's reply to that one was way more immediate: "Yes, they are all the same. There are many notebooks in the Shinigami Realm, but they all have the same rules, even the rules for when humans obtain them."

Whoa-ho-ho, hold up! Shinigami lived in their own dimension? There were more creatures like Rem? More notebooks? And people could pick one up at any time with the effortlessness of checking out a library book? That's what I was inferring, at any rate.

I had to fight the urge to drop dead, right then and there. How the hell were we going to tell the world that Kira had killed thousands of people with a dumb notebook? 

"Ryuzaki," said Aizawa, "Miss Amane and Light have both been cleared of suspicion. They shouldn't be under surveillance, any longer."

"That's right! It's crystal-clear!" exclaimed Matsuda.

I was expecting L to come up with some kind of sharp, crackpot rebuttal, like he always did. But I probably should've known better by that point: every time I expected him to do something, he usually did the opposite.

Nevertheless, I kind of jolted when L muttered, "I suppose you're right."

...

"I understand. Please accept my apologies for all of the trouble." For some reason, I didn't like that. I didn't like him sounding all…agreeable, all of a sudden. It should've been a more pleasant surprise to hear him act like a level-headed human being for once, but it wasn't. I don't know if that was because I'd gotten so used to him being all disagreeable and whatnot, that hearing him not put up a fight was a shocker.

Whatever the reason, it chafed me. It just wasn't too L-ish of him, if I'm allowed to call it that. So much, that a part of me held out for the moment when L would pull off a "Psyche!" Or at least, his version of "Psyche!"

"Thank goodness," breathed Mr. Yagami.

"Yeah," said Light, "but we still can't say that we've solved the case until we've figured out everything. Before I was taken in, someone else other than Higuchi was doing the killings. And if Kira and the Second Kira existed simultaneously, as Ryuzaki said, then that means there is more than one notebook out there. Kira, the Second Kira, whoever they were, whether there are more notebooks…we need to make that all clear. So, would it be all right if I kept investigating with you, without the handcuffs on?"

Even Light thought there were two notebooks? Well, now that he'd pointed out the existence of not one, but two Kiras, the thought struck me like seven thousand volts. In a way, I kind of wished I hadn't remembered that: the existence of two Kiras. Two Kiras, two notebooks…two too many concerning either. Jesus Christ.

The chain linking the boys together, the physical manifestation of their bond as a dysfunctional-yet-dynamic detective duo, rattled softly, as if in protest.

Okay, L, this is the part where you go "PSYCHE!" on everyone, right? 

"Yes."

He meant "yes" to Light's request to throw away the handcuffs. "So we shall part with Amane, then? We will help her in moving out as needed, and discontinue surveillance on her. As such, Mogi will no longer be her manager."

"Of course, Ryuzaki. I think we owe her that much, at least."

I noticed two things about the way he'd said that. First, he'd made absolutely no mention of what they would do with me. I wasn't part of the team either, so I would've figured that I would have the privilege to leave, as well. But nothing. Zilch. Nada. It was like I plain didn't exist.

But what bugged me more was that second, he still didn't say "Psyche!" Look, I'm not saying that I liked the spats those two could have; I didn't. But they'd been working that way for so long, I couldn't help but find it a little disturbing how they weren't arguing over what would happen to Light and Misa and everything. It was like, now whatever Light had in mind, L would just…take it.

And if that one rule was true...whoever the two Kiras were, were probably dead, now. I didn't like that idea, but it sounded way too likely. What would be the point in continuing this to look for more dead people?

He wound up changing the subject to something slightly more esoteric. It seemed esoteric to me, anyway. "Rem, in the video that the Second Kira sent to Sakura TV, there was a mentioning about how Kira 'doesn't have the Eyes.' Tell me: do these 'Eyes' allow you to see a person's name just by looking at them?"

No, scratch that. Very esoteric, to the umpteenth power. But then, what hadn't I heard all night that didn't have me blowing a fuse?

"Am I correct in assuming this? Or are you unable to tell humans about that?"

"I have to agree with you, Ryuzaki," said Light; again with the agreement? "These 'Eyes' must let you know someone's name by seeing their face after making a deal with a shinigami. You can easily deduce that from the Second Kira's statements, the incident with that traffic officer, and the fact that Higuchi headed for the Sakura TV station."

Hmph! Easy-peasy for you guys, maybe…

"A sharp observation," said Rem. "I am not permitted to tell anyone other than the owner of the notebook about the Deal, but if you've managed to figure out that much, I won't deny it."

"And…what is this 'Deal?'"

"Concerning that much, I cannot tell anyone but the notebook's owner."

Well, then…since Higuchi was now taking a dirt-nap, who was the current owner of the notebook? Did the notebook even have an owner? Was it a stray?

L pushed it one more time: "What about someone who used to use the notebook, but lost their memories regarding it?"

"Who knows? That never happens to a shinigami, and I've never seen that happen with a human, so I wouldn't know." Rem sure was getting kind of evasive, the more she was interrogated.

I sort of made that my cue to scram before anybody came out to catch me. I know I'd meant to apologize to L for what I'd done earlier with the tea, but by the end of that conversation, that was the last thing on my mind, too thick and satiated with everything else I'd soaked up to want to stick around. I needed an aspirin, to be honest.

…

What is going on…? 

…

As though things couldn't get any stranger, they started to act differently after that. By "they" of course, I mean our golden boys, Light and L. And Misa too I guess, even if she always was kind of weird to begin with. Well all right, when you had a shinigami running around your place and a killer notebook in your possession I guess anyone's a little inclined to act awkward. And I think just about everyone on the team had a natural tendency towards strangeness.

I still didn't like it though. It just seemed somehow as though they'd become…strangers, no matter how long I'd been living with them.

He could've just been sulking about how his suspicions about Light and Misa had been debunked—again—but ever since that night, L became distant—more so than usual—and passive. Not passive-aggressive, but passive-passive. And unlike the first time he'd fallen into a slump, Light made no effort to cheer him up, none that I'd seen, at least. With the handcuffs gone, Light was free to go where he pleased. But he took no advantage of that for some reason. Even when Misa swung by for a visit, he'd only chat with her for a couple of minutes outside. He liked to hover over L's shoulder like they were still chained together, yet at the same time was about as far away as L was.

I thought maybe he was just mad at him on account of everything he'd put him and his old man up to and wanted to see to it that L saw this case to the end, like he'd said he would. Nevertheless...

Instead of a bickering married couple, their relationship seemed to have dissolved into that of a couple who no longer had feelings for each other, not even hostile, that made a bystander like me wonder why the hell they were still even together. That depresses me to say the least, to see any pair like that, married or otherwise, never mind Light and L.

While L just turned all passive, Light...he turned into an icicle or something. Take the morning Misa went home for instance, two days after Higuchi's arrest and death. It took us two days to get her all moved out with our combined hands and backs. L didn't really move that much stuff. He mostly stood aside and watched us do the work. I'd managed to get him to at least take a box of Misa's dolls downstairs, but he didn't come back up again after that. And no one was in the mood for chasing that chump around. When we were done all he would say about that was, "I did the least that was asked of me."

Those two lovebirds were out in the lobby exchanging the kind of heartfelt good-byes you'd mostly find in romance flicks with an orchestra playing in the background. Well, Misa was, anyway. Light kind of just stood there holding her in his arms.

They seemed to be getting intimate, but I hadn't paid much attention to that when I came dashing out to meet them, long after the rest of the guys (except L, somewhat unsurprisingly) had seen Misa off and bid her happy trails, especially Matsuda. Boy, would he miss her. Aizawa had to drag the poor guy wailing by the lapels of his suit just to get him back inside.

"WAAAAAIT!" 

The two of them put a pause on their love-fest to look back at me. Neither of them looked too happy about the interruption.

As soon as I slammed the brakes, I doubled over to support myself on my knee while I took a second to catch my breath. "Sorry for butting in," I panted. "But I—I couldn't let you go yet without saying good-bye, Misa. It's been, uh—it's been pretty cool, being friends with you and all. I can't tell you how happy I am for you two now that your names have been cleared—"

"You have. I think you've told us several times, already," said Light. "You even picked up Misa off of her couch and spun her around three times."

Misa smiled at me. It could've been just me, but her smile seemed a little forced. She always was jealous of whatever quality time she could have with Light. "Misa might still be dizzy from that, too," she joked. "Aw, it's been nice knowing you too, Elin! I'll miss you so much!" she cheered with a wave of her dainty fingers.

I just waved a hand right back. "Whoa, hey, wait! I'm not done!" Even though we'd had our differences and rough patches, Misa and I had managed to coexist under the same roof as girlfriends, probably better than Light and L had been coexisting. I didn't feel like rushing a good-bye for a friend whom I wasn't sure I'd get to see again for a while. Since Rem and the notebook had appeared, things had started to get kind of haphazard…

"I also wanna say that I hope you break a leg on your trip to superstardom. And that you and Light someday have that house and picket fence and twelve kids like you've been hoping for." I never was that good with good-byes, honestly. It's tough for a wiener like me to say how they feel without making it come out sappy or stilted. In the movies, the characters seem to crack a joke a minute, or at least always have something witty to say. It's hardly that way in real life, unfortunately.

Light made a mild face, while Misa's smile broadened into a dazzling grin. "Thank you Elin, you can bet Misa and Light will have it all! Buh-bye now!"

"Whoa, hang on, will ya? What's the rush? You that antsy to start making out or what?"

Pause.

I gulped. "Uh, sorry. I didn't mean it like...isn't that what couples usually—well, um, at any rate, I got something for you."

I didn't want to say good-bye without giving her some kind of memento, either, of all the time we'd weathered together, good or lousy. With that, I took my other hand from behind my back to hold out the present I'd rushed to put together for her: a small square picture frame, wrapped in the most colorful comic strip clippings I could find lying around. Cheesy and cheap maybe, but that was the most thoughtful gift I could come up with given my resources and everything.

"Ryuzaki wouldn't let me put any pictures in it," I explained, pushing my glasses up on my burning nose. Yep, in all of my rushing to complete Misa's gift, I'd had another accident with my contact lenses. But you know? That didn't really concern me this time, to tell the truth. Not half as much as catching up to her did. "I hope that's okay."

Misa beamed. "Oh no, it's all right! It leaves Misa room to put in any picture she likes. Thank you, Elin; you're so sweet!"

"I made one for you, too, Light. I made one for everybody." I'd made a stupid picture frame for just about everyone on the task force. I must've made out like a one-woman knick-knack factory. Anything to help ease the shock that came with the existence of shinigami and killer notebooks. Besides, if—when—there came the time I'd be heading home, I figured I should give everyone some kind of memento, even if they all had to get the same thing. "I can go back and get it."

"No, that's fine. I'm not going anywhere. You can give it to me later," said Light. He was starting to look at me funny, like all he wanted right now was for me to go back inside. Sort of like how L used to look at me whenever I did something stupid.

"Soooo, Misa will just take this, and…"

Misa grabbed the frame, but she couldn't take it out of my hand. She tugged and tugged, but no dice. "Hey! What gives?"

Light's features started to clench with impatience. "All right, Elin, quit fooling around. Give Misa the frame."

"Oh. Uh…heh-heheh. Yeah, about that…sorry, Misa," I tittered, cupping my free hand on the back of my clammy neck. "I just remembered: I—I sort of glued my hand to the frame while I was making it. That's what I get for hurrying, huh? Ha! I always did suck at arts 'n' crafts!" I sucked at a lot of things. That was the whole reason I'd been late in going downstairs to see Misa off, for Christ's sake.

Light decided to take it upon himself to intervene. He took my wrist in one hand, the frame in another, and with a brisk twist of both he managed to rip them apart.

"Yow!" I drew back to cradle my hand. "Hey easy, kid! I'm still using this hand, you know." I tried to sound all playful and everything, but in the back of my mind, I had to wonder: what was the poker up his ass, today? Since he and Misa had been cleared and everything, I thought he'd be doing a jig like the rest of us.

I wrote it off as stress. I'd be crabby too if I'd been unfairly called the prime suspect for months on end, and had the creepy lead detective stuck to me like gum in my hair and screwing up my school and social life. Besides, Light wasn't really the type to break out into a random jig of joy. He was kind of boring, in a way. Not really a guy I'd want as a boyfriend even if he was smart, good-looking and polite.

"Sorry. You needed to get it off somehow, didn't you?" said Light, handing my present over to Misa.

I looked him over kind of warily. "Yeah. I did." Then I turned back to Misa and stretched my arms out, ready to give her a hug. "Aw man! I'm 'onna miss you, Misa!" I meant that. Who knew how long I still had here and with Misa gone I would be the only girl left. Well, besides Rem and Wedy, I guess. But I didn't think shinigami cared about the things Misa and I would talk about and Wedy had her own thing going on. Plus I kind of annoyed her whenever we were together, whether I meant to or not.

She nodded but didn't really stretch her arms out in return. She mostly stretched one arm out as if preparing to give me a handshake. I dove in for the hug instead; boy, I could've snapped her in half if Light hadn't pried me off of her before I could.

"That's enough, Elin. You're a lot stronger than you think and she doesn't want to be crushed. If it makes you feel better, Misa will come back later," he said, guiding me by the shoulders to the entrance of the main room.

Now that I'm thinking about it, that all by itself should've been a red flag, how Light suddenly seemed to want badly to be alone with Misa and not just the other way around. I didn't see it that way, though. Light had been so uptight with the case, and now with most of the pressure off he was finally opening up to Misa as much as he should and maybe really wanted to.

I sort of crumbled a little with disappointment, but I let it go. Since their names had been cleared, maybe they'd have a shot at developing their relationship into something more serious? "Oh. Making plans for the future, I guess? That's cool. I mean, heh, who am I to butt in on a couple of lovebirds like you two? You guys have got a good thing going; don't ruin it by moving too fast."

I looked at Misa to see her waving at me. Her face seemed to glow upon my mentioning the word "future." "Bye, Elin! Misa will miss you! Thank you for the cute picture frame!"

God, if I'd known that that would be the last time we'd stand in the same space as friends…

…

Back in the monitor room, I resolved to passing out the rest to everyone else; I even had two for Aiber and Wedy, not once wondering if they would accept them. That's how crazy I'd gotten.

"Er…thank you," said Aizawa, Mogi and Mr. Yagami, staring at their gifts like they were tacky novelty coffee mugs. I didn't blame them. Watari, Aiber and Wedy were nowhere around, so I left theirs by the computers for them to pick up whenever.

"Aw, thank you, Elin!" Matsuda gushed, the most enthusiasm I'd seen out of anyone in the task force as of late. "How thoughtful! I'll treasure it always!"

I beamed at my fellow rookie before sliding into the couch where L was crouched in, stacking a bunch of marshmallows into a pyramid. The big and fluffy kind. "Well, you know, I figured that I should leave you guys something for when I hit the dusty trail. For all of the time we've weathered together, and so and so…and so. Ah, that reminds me!"

I sat down by L and placed his picture frame on the coffee table, by his marshmallow pyramid. "Bernini, let's you and me talk turkey! What d'ya say, huh?"

L was about to place the crowning marshmallow on top of his masterpiece, when he paused to eye the handmade picture frame like I'd planted a bomb on it or something. You would've thought that no one had ever given him a present before, not even on his birthday.

I guess when you're not too trustworthy yourself, you tend to get pretty distrustful of others' motives in the meantime.

Upon thinking about that, I swallowed the budding lump in my throat before it could get any bigger and assured him, "Don't worry! It's just a picture frame." Like he'd had no clue what I'd presented him. I sort of wondered for a second what he could possibly do with a picture frame since he had no pictures. None that I knew of, at least.

But I wound up answering that question myself: "You could probably put in a picture of your, uh, favorite cake or something to look at. While you're eating. So then you could…oh! Eat your cake and have it too!"

Ba-dum, ching! 

I laughed like I'd just cracked a real rib-tickler. L wasn't laughing though. He never laughed. I couldn't remember ever seeing him smile, for Christ's sake.

Once I collected myself again I told him, "At any rate, it's yours. No charge! No strings attached! Though I still wanna talk turkey."

For the first time all day, he spoke up. "What is it that you wish to discuss?" He still kept his eyes trained on the frame, though, to scan it for bugs or bombs and the like.

I rubbed my knuckles on my shirt. "Oh you know, the same old issue from before. About my going home and all—"

"I'm afraid that's not possible, right now."

Now I was sitting way the hell up in my seat like a squirrel. "What? Are you taking me for a ride? What's wrong? Why cant'cha send me home? You sent Misa home and she was a suspect."

"I believe the conditions we laid out—"

"You mean that you laid out." I shouldn't have done that, interrupt him. But I was getting so hopped up all of a sudden, you wouldn't believe. What was he trying to pull here?

"…were that you would stay with us until Kira had been apprehended."

"B-but Higuchi's dead. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not happy that he died or anything, but shouldn't that mean—"

"Kyosuke Higuchi was only a proxy. We cannot call this case closed until we've tracked down the real Kira. And the Second Kira, as well. We may have one of the notebooks, but there is another out there, possibly more."

By the point I was digging my nails into my scalp. Something needed to be done about this new passive attitude of his; nothing was gonna get done if not. Since Light was preoccupied…

It looked like I would have to take a little initiative. Believe me, the very idea rattled me to the core. Just not quite enough to keep my yap buttoned. I was still a journalist, after all. Besides, you could pretty much do anything if you don't think about it that much. Even though that has its obvious risks…

"Well hey, I've got an idea: ask Rem if there are any more stupid notebooks lying around! She's a shinigami; she oughta know!" I said that like I hadn't known how he'd already tried that. I just wanted to see him push, like he'd done before. I even expected him to call me out on having eavesdropped on that conversation.

He didn't.

I squirmed around until I was on my knees, peering over the couch to check out Rem, who'd been looming in the exact spot and position she'd had all day. "Hey! Hey, Rem! Please enlighten us. Are there other notebooks floating around in the human world?" Imagine that: talking to a shinigami like I did. But like I said, if you rationalize or think about some things too much, you might as well be a vegetable.

Rem cocked her head. "As I've already told you, there may or may not be. Even if there were, I wouldn't know." The same answer as before.

I face-palmed. "Oh no, this isn't about the night you came in, is it? L-listen: I'm…uh…I'm really sorry I tried to, you know, scald you with hot tea. You just—you just freaked me out, is all. But we can still be friends, right?" I twiddled my fingers.

"I already told you: shinigami are impervious to all forms of physical assault. You couldn't hurt me no matter how much you'd like to."

"O…kay. Well, the reason I ask is 'cause one time I thought I saw a creature out on the town that looked kind of like you, at least from the back. 'Cept he had wings."

"Excuse me?" said Aizawa, peering over his shoulder and stopping his typing.

I must've turned as red as a beet and I felt myself shrink a little. Oh man, the guys were all staring at me now like I'd spouted a second head out of my butt. "Uh, well, I said I thought I saw a creature that looked kind of like Rem, like months ago..."

"And you bring this up now because?" Aizawa had that strain in his voice like he was trying to put a cap on it before he got too mad. Or maybe he was too tired and shaken from the other night's events to work up the effort to get mad.

"Hey, hey, hey! It's only been what, two days since we found out these things even existed? No offense, Rem," I blurted. "It's not like I could tell you what it was or where it came from; I mean Tokyo's probably got more people than Manhattan and I only got a glimpse of it and I never saw it again after that. If I'd have brought this up before this whole mess with Higuchi went down, you all woulda thought I was bonkers." I made the cuckoo sign to emphasize my point.

He snorted. "I'm not a certified psychiatrist, but since you've been here I can't say you've done much that could make me believe you were completely sane either." He might have been joking about that, or maybe he wasn't? That's the problem when you use sarcasm too much.

I paused to glance back at L. He'd gotten into looking over Rem as well but he kept quiet. For a second I massaged craters into my scalp as I tried to come up with another question that Rem could give a better answer to.

"I wouldn't know anything about other shinigami coming to the human world," she answered blankly.

There was something I'd been wondering for awhile. "A-awright, fine. So Rem, what about you? What were you doing following Higuchi around? Was it because he had your notebook and all?"

"Yes, you could assume that."

I got up from the couch to dash across the room and snatch up the notebook off of the desk. Once I climbed back into the couch, I waved it around over my head like a flag. "Did you follow him around because you wanted this back? Well Higuchi's dead, last I heard of him, so I guess that means you can take this back and go home to wherever the heck you came from. Sound good? Bon voyage!" Even with that dumb rule that said we couldn't burn it, I still sort of wanted the notebook gone, in any way possible.

Rem stared at me, her face as blank as her answers. "It's not that simple, I'm afraid."

I winced under the dull throb of an impending migraine. Jesus Christ, were all shinigami this ditzy?

Almost miraculously, that was about the time L picked up on the interrogating. "Why can't you take back the notebook?"

"I can only take it back if the owner willingly gives it up."

I proved Aizawa's point and started jumping on the couch cushions Cruise™-style until my glasses were practically falling off my face (while L somehow magically maintained his balance the whole time). "For the umpteenth time: Higuchi! Is! Dead! The notebook doesn't have an owner anymore!"

Deep breath.

"Doesn't it?"

Then from out of the blue L asked, "Rem, when Higuchi died, did the ownership transfer to the task force?"

"Perhaps."

"Who does it belong to now? If it belongs to anyone?" he followed up.

"I don't know," Rem replied. "And even if I did, I couldn't tell you."

I slapped the notebook on the table. "W-well, why the hell did you give Higuchi your notebook if you weren't gonna be able to get it back?"

"I didn't give it to him. I accidentally dropped my notebook, and he happened to pick it up. That's how he became the owner." Wow. Just, wow. Shinigami were not only dizzy as all hell, but they were butterfingers, too?

That terrified me, to be honest. I had to sit down in order to settle the gravel sifting around in my stomach, after thinking how easily an average Joe could come across something so dangerous. It made me want to puke, almost. Since the case had begun, anything could make me puke.

"Not trying to diss you or anything Rem, but I would've thought shinigami would be a little more careful than that. Don't you like, need it or something?"

"Not necessarily."

GAAAAH! Why did every goddamn answer out of her purple mouth have to be "I don't know" or "I can't tell you" or "Not necessarily?" Shinigami could not possibly be that clueless!

Could they?

Or was Rem answering like that on purpose because she didn't trust us?

Whatever her problem was, her resistance wouldn't do much to help L's attitude problem.

…

Oh, what was happening to everyone?

"Okay, fine! Ryuzaki, let's go get everybody lined up that was there when you caught Higuchi. Have 'em take turns trying to give the notebook back to Rem."

All of a sudden he got this kind of glazed look, as though mutely asking me, Since when do I take orders from you? You should know by now that it's the other way around. "What would be the point to that? If anything that would be counter-productive. This Death Note is a valuable piece of evidence and the shinigami's a potential witness. It'd be foolish to let either go, especially when the shinigami could easily drop the notebook again for someone else to pick up.

"Furthermore, I doubt that we could officially give it back its notebook that way. Not when it just admitted that it doesn't know who the owner even is. Also, no one is going to truly want to give it back due to the reason aforementioned."

Looking back on that, I wonder if I should have listened to him. Maybe in that freaky Ripley's "Believe It or Not!"™ way of his, he already knew the truth. No way he was going to let some shmuck like me get in the way of his goal.

But I didn't consider that. I thought he was just being a mopey mule all over again like before.

What the hell do you suggest we do then, Sherlock? At least I'm trying to do something. But as long as you keep blocking me what good am I really doing? 

"Elin, where are you going?" L asked me as I fumbled off of the couch, lifting my glasses to massage the bridge of my nose.

"You have to excuse me," I mumbled, clutching my head like it were a football. "I need to go bang some holes in the wall. With my head."

"You really should consider breaking that habit of yours. I don't think it'll help to ease your discomfort; if anything, it'll exacerbate it."

"You've got your junk food, and I've got my own thing. Live and let live, Ryuzaki." Which was, if anything, more of the polite way of saying, "Screw you, Ryuzaki."

Compared to everything else going on, head-butting the wall would've been like morphine.


	22. Sweet

No matter what their normal level of sanity, everyone is at least slightly insane on Halloween. That'd always been my experience anyway. And rightfully so. I used to get a huge bang out of the holiday when I was a kid and not just because of the free candy; that goes without saying. Besides April Fools' Day, Halloween was a holiday of mischief. As much as I wanted people to take me seriously on any other day of the year, I found an excuse for blowing off steam on Halloween: everyone was horsing around. Unlike on April Fools' Day, which a lot of people don't actively observe or even recognize as a holiday.

So when Halloween rolled around—having been feeling kind of insane already as of late—I ran around the place like a practical maniac, hoping to take as full of an advantage as I could of the "trick" in "trick-or-treating," even if I probably was getting kind of old for that, anymore.

Of course, I'd dressed up for the occasion. Misa had once given me a make-up kit, in hopes of getting me into the habit of wearing it a little. Well, on Halloween I finally found a use for it, though I had to wonder if it made me a bad person for abusing Misa's present like that, and for being grateful that she wasn't around to see me doing it. I found a justification for it, though: it would've been worse if I'd never used the gifts that the lovely Misa Amane had so graciously bestowed upon me. By the time I'd slapped the lipstick down, I'd created my very own mask that I could actually breathe in. Almost gave myself a stroke when I looked in the mirror, too.

Throwing caution to the wind, I slapped on my hat and crept around not to look for someone to spook, but to find some kind of phone. I never did anything particularly heinous on Halloween, like jump screaming out of bushes to give free aneurysms to by-passers. I was too yellow to do that. No, my personal favorite was crank-calling. I'd always preferred pranks that didn't require any face-to-face stuff. I guess that's because if I saw how someone looked when I pranked them, and they didn't take it well, it would've ruined it for me. I'd get all guilty and yellow as hell, maybe beg for mercy.

Since I didn't really know anyone on the outside to crank-call, however—not that L would've let me, anyway—I settled for using that fancy phone in the monitor room, the one that couldn't be traced by caller ID, to try crank-calling the members of the task force. I figured I wouldn't get in as much trouble if I'd only done it to people within headquarters, as opposed to outside.

As soon as I judged the coast as clear, I tiptoed across the room towards the desk. Peeking over my shoulder every three seconds, I picked up the receiver and started punching in a number, every shallow breath squeezing out as a jaw-clenching snicker. God, was I crazy. I fully admit it.

Except, I only knew the number of one of the members of the task force, so that didn't give me a lot to work with. It was okay, though: at least he had a good sense of humor.

"Hello?" 

Clearing my throat until I'd practically turned it inside-out, I adjusted my voice as best as I could to say, "Mr. Matsuda, this is Ryuzaki."

"Ah, Ryuzaki! What is it?" Oh, Matsuda. He killed me, sometimes. I had to hold the receiver out at arm's length while I shook out the giggles before getting back on the phone, trying to remember how exactly L would talk: like a history professor on sedatives.

"It has come to my attention that we are facing a shortage of Halloween candy. Please run out to fetch more," I said, twirling the cord around my finger. "Thank you so much for all of the hard work you've put into this investigation, by the way." Someone had to tell him that. I did, but my opinion didn't matter around here. He should've heard it from someone whose opinion did count. Why not from L? That should've boosted old Matsuda's self-esteem to high heaven.

I could hear it in his voice: "Uh, oh, wow! R—do you really mean that, Ryuzaki? Th-thank you! The honor is mine! I'll get that candy right away!"

When I heard the click on the other side of the line, I kind of wondered if it'd been right to do that, praise Matsuda while impersonating L, making him get more candy, on top of it. I could even hear my conscience speaking out as I stood there gazing out into space:

"You are a poor impersonator." How did my conscience get on the phone? And why did it sound like L?

At any rate, I jumped about ten feet out of my skin as soon as I'd heard that. "GAAH! Haunted phone!" I dropped the receiver, letting it dangle by its cord off of the edge of the desk as I collapsed into a nearby swivel chair to make a crucifix sign with my fingers. Hey, if shinigami and killer notebooks could exist, what couldn't? Why, just because of that, I could almost say that my faith in Santa Claus was returning.

"I do hope that you have no tea with you, right now. This is an important piece of equipment you are toying with, after all. It also sounds like Matsuda has forgotten to turn off his phone, again..." 

Oh. It was only L. I scooted forward to pick up the receiver, never mind how he knew what I'd been up to, or how he was able to reach me over the phone—I wouldn't get any answers, anyway.

I pushed my glasses back up on my face. "Dude, you're loaded. It's not like you can't just buy another one of these things."

"That may be true. But I don't want to need to buy another, at this time. Now, kindly step away from the phone." 

"Why? Is it gonna self-destruct if I don't? Okay, fine! I'm putting it down, now. I'm hanging up…I'm hanging up…I'm hanging up…"

I kept saying "I'm hanging up," but I didn't hang up. I sort of just let the receiver hover over its cradle, but not completely hung it up. Mostly I did that to irritate him a little, but a small part of me was honestly afraid it really would self-destruct, now that I'd mentioned it. L was a very unpredictable jerk.

"Elin, please do not test my patience. Hang up, now."

That was one of the ten thousand funny things about L. He could test your patience as much as he pleased, but when you did it to him, even if it was all in harmless fun, he didn't like it. That killed me.

"Okay, okay! Don't get your shorts in a twist!" I scoffed. "Sheesh! Save the drama for your—"

...

I was going to tell him, "Save the drama for your mama." But I froze before I could say so, on account of I'd just remembered something that I would kick myself later for ever forgetting. L didn't have a mama. He didn't have anyone. Except Watari, I guess. Though it wouldn't have been as funny if I'd told him, "Save the drama for Watari."

But that was beside the point. Point was, when I thought about the context I'd be saying it in, it didn't sound all that funny anymore. The phrase loses all of its chuckle value when the guy doesn't even have a mama to run to.

"Yes? Hello?" 

I pushed my glasses back up on my face. Suddenly, my face had begun to burn and itch, and not just from the make-up.

"Uh…I…I said…there's no drama in the Bahamas!"

Click. 

I cut it out, after that, crank-calling and all. It felt like I'd taken a fork through the stomach, my guts gnarled around the prongs like spaghetti. That L: why did he have to go and ruin my favorite prank? No matter what I'd be up to, even something as harmless as crank-calling, he'd find a way to foul it up, somehow.

Even though I guess it wasn't all his fault. I mean, how many people can help not having a family, for instance? I rested my jaw in my hand as I thought about that. Boy, was I depressed, all of a sudden.

That is, until I heard somebody coming in. Heart missing a beat, I whirled around to face them, my mind already scrambling to come up with a decent alibi—

"Hey, Ryuzaki, I was just wondering: what kinds of candy did you WAAAH!"

Poor Matsuda tumbled down on his ass before I could even open my mouth. Before I could make a coherent sound, he scuttled back out the door, wailing, "Aizawa! Chief! Ryuzaki, Light! Come quick! There's another shinigami in the monitor room!" He must've seen what I'd done to my face or something.

Wow. I must've done a terrific job with the make-up. Or a terrible one, I guess. If we hadn't already had a shinigami around, I don't think he would've fallen for it so easily.

As quickly as I'd sprung out of my chair after him, I was too late to stop him from making a fool out of himself. Though I tried, anyway: "Matsu, w-wait! Come back, it's me, Elin! I'm not a—"

The team was already flooding into the room by the time I'd stopped calling after him, Light and L included. For a long, painful moment, we all stood there facing each other, every one of us trying to deduce what the hell was going on.

Then Aizawa reached up to swat Matsuda on the back of his head. "You idiot, is this some kind of joke?" he snapped. "Another shinigami, my ass."

Naturally, I swooped in to Matsuda's rescue: "No, no, i-it's not his fault! It's mine, all mine. If you've got any blame to put, put it on me."

L scanned me from brow to toe and back, his finger hooked into his bottom lip. "Even Amane has never used so much make-up at one time," he remarked quietly. "Elin, go wash your face. Also, need I remind you—again—that you are not allowed to wear hats inside the building?"

"Aw, go wash your own monkey face," I shot back: a pretty stupid and childish thing to say, I realize, but Halloween had a way of bringing out the kid in me. It brings out the kid in everyone…so I'd always figured. Besides, I was still upset about what'd happened over the phone. And since when did he care about what I did with my face?

Nevertheless, two seconds later, I felt crummy for saying it. That was almost as bad as telling him to save the drama for his nonexistent mama. Not quite, but almost. So like always, I quick tried to rub my words over: "I-I mean, come on, guys, it's Halloween! I'm just getting into the spirit."

Pause.

As soon as Matsuda recovered from Aizawa's swat, he started to glow with excitement. "No way! It's Halloween, already? Oh man! I really should go out and buy some treats, then!" Before long, he'd scrambled out of the room to do that. Sometimes, he could be almost as unpredictable as L, but not really. L was the king of the unpredictable. And not usually in the good way.

When Aizawa took off after him to get him to hold his horses, Mr. Yagami followed. Light stood there shaking his head. L, in the meantime, stayed impassive. "You should go wash your face."

I tipped my hat out of my face to point at it. "But this is what people do on Halloween: dress up like ghouls and ghosts and monsters and morons! You oughta know that! You know everything, after all."

…

He did know that much, right? Didn't everyone?

"Listen, Elin," said Light. "If you want to observe Halloween, we'll respect that. It's when you start getting in our way that we have a problem."

Well, I just gave them both this stupid look as I pushed my glasses up on my face. "I'm getting—your childhood just flew clean over your heads, didn't it?" I asked, though I probably shouldn't have. "Whoosh! Right over your heads." I waved a hand across the top of my head.

But that's when I got that fork-in-the-gut feeling again. Did either of them even have childhoods to fly over their heads? Well, Light probably did. Attitude issues aside, he always seemed like a relatively normal kid.

What about L?

I didn't know a speck about his childhood; no one did. Nor, for all I knew, did they bother to ask. Thinking back on his lack of a family, I imagined him in the middle of an orphanage somewhere dull and lacking Technicolor, dressed in tattered hand-me-downs, dancing around and singing about the hard-knock life he led with Annie™ and company.

But that didn't look right. It didn't feel right. Even Annie™ and the other little orphans would know how to appreciate things like Halloween, even when they got older. Probably.

Movies. They can ruin you.

I took off my hat and started shuffling past them. I felt sorry as hell, all of a sudden, for him. For both of them. "Fine. Whatever. If that's what you want, I'll stay out of the way. Happy Halloween, at any rate."

Happy, my ass.

…

I didn't stay out of the way. Not for long. I couldn't do that. I figured that Light had only meant "in the way" in the sense that I'd hinder their work on the case.

What I did instead, I came back downstairs a while later with a bag of candy, after some time making faces at myself in the mirror before getting sick of that and scrubbing my face off. The make-up was starting to irritate me, anyway. Sweat was making it run. How Misa could put up with that on a regular basis was a mystery to me. She might've just been tough like that.

"Trick or treat, smell my feet, I got something good to eat," I chanted with enthusiasm I tried to feel. Along the way, I passed Rem again, who was staring at me in the same absent-minded way she'd been staring at everybody since she came here. I stopped to exchange looks with her.

I opened my mouth to ask what she was looking at, but the words wouldn't leave my throat. I sort of just stood there gawking at her like she was, at me. Then I looked down at my bag of candy.

I gulped. "What's the matter? You want candy? Here." Purely out of reflex, I scooped up a fistful to place on the coffee table in front of her. I don't know why I offered her candy. It was Halloween, and Rem certainly looked…festive for the occasion. It could've triggered that tiny instinct we all have to pass out candy on Halloween to anything and anyone that looks like a monster.

Or it might've been just because I was a God-fearing girl. A Death God-fearing girl, that is. I didn't want to wake up later in the middle of the night to find Rem nibbling on my entrails because I wouldn't give her candy.

Rem eyed the sweets with a mildly curious look. Finally she said, "We shinigami do not need to eat. Our internal organs have degraded; you could say that we've evolved to the point where we do not require sustenance."

What kind of living thing wouldn't need to eat? Imagine that. Losing weight would be nice but to not eat at all? Could shinigami even be considered living things to begin with?

From way across the room I heard L ask, "So do shinigami love apples, or don't they?"

Uh…what? Where'd that come from? If there was one thing about L that hadn't changed, it would've been his unpredictability.

"Not necessarily."

"What is 'not necessarily?'"

I just pushed my offering closer to Rem. "O…kay. Well, if you ever get a hankering—I dunno, for a taste or something—here ya go." I leaned in even closer—not too close, mind you, just enough to add in a whisper, "Just clean them up before he gets at 'em. Guy's like a Hoover™ vacuum when it comes to candy. I mean it." I sort of suspected that Rem was testing me to see if I'd give her any candy anyway by telling me she didn't need to eat. Monsters were tricky like that. Blame the movies for that, too.

Rem didn't answer, nor did I wait for an answer. Figuring I was safe—for now—I continued my way across the room until I got behind L's chair. I got on tiptoe to peek over his gravity-defying hair. "What'cha doing there, Ryuzaki?"

L had the notebook out in front of him, upside-down, and a tea set. He held up one page in particular between his fingers: one with the bottom corner torn off. Rather than answer my question directly, he looked up to say, "Hmm…interesting. The corner of one of the pages in this notebook has been torn off." Like I couldn't see that for myself.

"Can you kill someone by writing their name on a piece?"

As usual, Rem sidestepped around the question. "Can't say. I've never tried using it like that and I don't know of anyone who has." I looked back at her. She still hadn't touched the candy, and probably wouldn't anytime soon.

Then L turned to glance back at me. "What is it, Elin?" He didn't tell me to get lost or anything, like I thought he would.

I took a seat and plopped the bag of candy by his elbow. "Just came back to observe Halloween: non-invasive, this time, I promise. I already did my 'tricking,' so now I'm 'treating.' Know what I mean? Oh, I'm…uh, sorry about what I did with the phone, by the way. And look: I washed my face."

"Thank you." I felt pretty weird talking to him, all of a sudden. I almost always felt weird around him. He had to go make the most ordinary things so uncomfortable.

I rested my head in my hand, propping myself up on the desk by the elbow. I decided right then and there to ask: "What'sa matter, Ryuzaki? Knowing you—or, um, assuming that I know you—I would've thought you'd be going nuts over Halloween."

L put the notebook down and reached for the kettle. "Is that so? Why would you make that assumption?" For some reason I felt a tiny twinge in my chest when he said that, like he honestly found no reason at all to love Halloween.

Had I been right? As nice as it is to be right most of the time, there are times when you might wish you hadn't been right. This for me was one of those times.

Had L ever felt that way at least once in his career?

I chuckled, "Aw you don't have to play dumb with me, Ryuzaki! You know all about Halloween…don't you?"

As soon as he'd filled his cup L set the kettle down, answering as though he were reading from straight out of an encyclopedia, bored stiff. "Halloween: an annual holiday observed on the last day of the month of October. Though considered a secular event, its roots can be traced back to both the ancient pagan holiday of Samhain and the Christian holy day of All Saints…"

I waved a hand out in front of me in opposite rhythm with my head. "No-no-no-no-no! Nn-mm, no. That's not what I meant. Points for knowing the technical stuff, sure."

Even if no one gives a lick about the technical stuff...

"But what I mean is, do you know Halloween? Have you experienced it? Have you lived it? Basically, have you ever gone trick-or-treating? Carved a jack-o'-lantern? Maybe TP'ed somebody's house? Egged 'em? Hm?"

He was in the middle of stirring ten sugar cubes into his drink when he paused to glance up at the ceiling, as spaced-out as can be. He must've been thinking pretty hard about it. Harder than he should've thought about it, if you asked me.

When he came back to earth, he gave me the last answer I wanted: "No, I can't say that I have."

…

Up went the glasses. "That's PS. C-come on, you…you must've done it at least once. Just once, when you were a kid."

"No. I haven't. Why would I want to throw toilet paper or eggs at someone's house even if I wasn't fond of them? That sounds wasteful. Besides you could be saving those eggs for something productive, like making cake."

Ignoring that last part, how the hell could he say something so terrible with such a straight face? Now maybe that's not supposed to be a big deal, a guy who'd never gone trick-or-treating in his life, I mean? Why, he could've been lying to me about the whole thing for all I knew, God knows why he would. But that didn't keep me from feeling the lousiest I'd felt in a long time. In fact I was suddenly all but overcome with the urge to drag him outside and help him compensate for lost time. If a guy has never even had the privilege to go door-to-door in a tacky costume to collect free candy from strangers—legally—then what else did he have?

As I rose up from the chair I slapped my hands on the desk Aizawa-style; damn near knocked his drink over, while I was at it. "Tell you what," I said with the most even voice I could muster, "how's about you and me round up the others, we'll ring up Misa, and we all go out on the town trick-or-treating? Tonight? You won't even have to dress up; y-you already look good enough for the occasion the way you are. We'd make out like bandits! Aw man, you would love it! Swear to God, you would!"

"There's no need to shout, Elin," L replied. Which was bullcrap, because I wasn't shouting. Not yet, anyway. "And I'm afraid tonight won't do. Another time, perhaps?"

I huffed, "Of all the things to be a square about...but tonight's the only night we can bum for candy in costumes and get away with it. Don't you get it? If we did it on any other day of the year, they'd call it trespassing and soliciting and whatever and then the cops would get called. C'mon Ryuzaki, I would've thought you'd be all over a crackpot scheme like this one! Just about every person I've ever met in my life has been all over treat-or-treating."

He started looking away, like he always did, as he lifted the cup up to his lips to take a slurp. "My apologies if I'm not," he muttered.

The twinge in my chest became a stab. "W-well…how 'bout just standing by the door to say hi to the trick-or-treaters, then?"

"Impossible. No ordinary citizen would be able to bypass the security system. Nor do I feel like making exceptions, to tell you the truth."

Translation: "You're mad, sister, if you think for a minute that I'd share my stash with some snot-nosed strangers in costumes." Of course. He was a very selfish bastard.

Seeing that I couldn't persuade him, I wilted back into my seat with my jaw on my knuckles. I didn't speak to him again for a minute or two, too lost in thought to say a word. I just let him slurp away.

Then from straight out of the blue, I murmured: "You just flat-out had no childhood when you were coming up, did you?" An awful assumption to make about someone but I couldn't help it. The more I spoke to him, the more that I believed that that was his problem. Or at least one of his problems.

He quit slurping.

I probably should've shut up after that but I didn't. I was on a roll. "I don't know what things were like for you when you were little, and you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but from my angle it looks to me that for whatever cruel reason you didn't get to enjoy your childhood. You didn't get the chance to just be a kid…and enjoy all the good stuff that comes with being a kid, like trick-or-treating on Halloween."

And because you never got to be a kid, you never got the chance to grow up, either. I mean REALLY grow up. Which is why you're so childish and bratty now at twenty-something… 

Somehow I got enough courage to peek back at him. He didn't look at me though; he was looking somewhere else, his bangs draped over his face like a veil. Not affirming my suspicions but not denying them either. What did he make of what I'd said anyway? Did I strike a nerve?

No matter what, he looked kind of…I don't know, incomplete. I couldn't explain why exactly. It could've been because I'd gotten so used to seeing him and Light together, it felt strange not to see Light closely behind him. He looked to me like a lone jigsaw puzzle piece that didn't seem to fit anywhere, a half of what used to be a sleuthing tour de force, who could probably shine as brightly on his own but for some reason didn't feel like it.

I wondered if he missed him.

I wasn't sure whether to smack him upside the head or hug him. He sort of deserved a little of both, to be honest.

"Hey, is it…uh…no…"

"What is it, Elin?"

Well, he did insist. Another random-ass question: "Is it lonely? Not having him chained to your wrist and all?" I wasn't necessarily trying to be cute, here.

For a moment, only the faint hum of the computers fended off absolute silence.

"…Perhaps."

I almost choked. "R…really?"

"Light is—or was—the first friend I've ever had," he said, peering down at his darkened reflection in the tea. So I hear it from the horse's mouth itself, huh? When I first heard about that I thought maybe he'd been lying, to "keep the enemy close" or whatever. But looking at him now, all these months later, I had to wonder if maybe, just maybe, there might've been at least a grain of truth in it. Enemies are weird like that; when you spend enough time with them and all and somehow manage to not kill each other, no matter how lousy your time is together, you can't help but get a little attached. They're like friends only you don't like them, not as much as you would your regular friends, anyway.

"'Cause you guys run on the same wavelength and all, I'm guessing?" Eggheads had to stick together. Crazies had to stick together.

"Yes, you could say that. But I suppose more than that, Light is the first person to have ever treated me at least remotely like an equal. Not as superior, and not as inferior either."

That had me cupping a hand over my mouth. No way. What'd he mean by that?

Come to think of it, Light and L, they spoke the same lingo, came to the same convoluted conclusions...hell, they could finish each other's sentences. Compared to how they were with other people, when they weren't at each other's throats, they did treat each other more or less as equals. It seemed that the only major rift between them was how L wouldn't stop saying Light was Kira (and Light had more commonsense, if also was a little boring compared to his compatriots and easier on the eyes).

He honestly had never shared that sort of closeness with anyone else...?

You could argue that this was because L thought he was too good for us regular joes, like how some only like to hang out with other people of the same skill, class, clique, race, political party, whatever, while writing off the rest. Elitist, chauvinist, whatever you call it.

Then again, how can you genuinely feel above everyone else when no one wants to talk to you unless they have to?

Even people who are on your level?

"Is he still mad at you or something? Is that why you're not speaking to each other? Well hey, if he's still around how's about I get him down here so you guys can hash things out? It's been like three days now. Kiss and make up already. They say that the best way to get the last word is to say you're sorry. Not that it matters if you don't mean it, of course."

"Your offer is appreciated but I've already issued my apology. Light will either accept it or he won't, and I doubt any amount of negotiation at this point is going to expedite the process. It's out of my hands."

"Out of your hands? You're you. Ain't nothing's been out of your hands before. Sometimes you're just too lazy or stubborn to do anything with it. Offer him ice cream or something. Everyone loves ice cream."

"Except Light. He's lactose-intolerant. I think he'd see that as an insult rather than a peace offering."

"Now you're just making up excuses! Don't they make lactose-free kinds? You'd know, you know everything."

He didn't respond to that. Maybe he didn't find it worth dignifying with a response?

"And while we're still talking about friends hasn't there ever been anyone before Light? Come on, a big fish like you, there's—there's gotta be somebody."

"Hmm…no, I don't believe there is."

Well, I didn't believe what he said. I didn't want to believe it. No way anyone, no matter how powerful, could get by with nobody and still be alive. It just wasn't done. My hand moved up to the corner of my eye to rub at it. I had to wonder for a second what the hell Light could possibly be doing when he could be here with L, having a grand old time like they always did. I got that Light might have been mad at him for all he'd put him through, not that he didn't have the right to be, but...oh, it didn't look good no matter how I looked at it.

What happened?

"What about all those people you said you have on reserve or something? Or did you make that up?"

"I wouldn't consider the rest of my connections intimate enough to call them friends, and I'm certain the opinion is mutual."

"Hmm...hey, wait. What about us? The rest of us here. He doesn't have to be your only friend, does he?" I counted everyone off on my fingers: "Don't forget, you've also got Watari and Matsuda and Aizawa and Mogi and Mr. Yagami and Aiber and Wedy and Misa and…and…"

That's when I started to choke again. I'm not sure whether he saw it that way but he had at least enough friends to count off all my fingers, counting Light.

And me.

I mean, he was selfish and bratty and wacko and all, but not a total waste of humanity. He picked on me all the time but he'd never really hurt me; nothing I couldn't bounce back from when I let myself. He had been decidedly decent on occasion. And it seemed that the more time I spent with this sad clown, the sorrier I grew for him. I didn't get him over three-quarters of the time but I didn't wish him any harm. Not seriously.

On the matter of whether to smack him upside the head or hug him, I wound up doing the latter. Again. Except not so much for my sake this time as I'd done it for his.

And I didn't flat-out jump on him like last time so I could've backed off at any moment. But I didn't. One arm turned into two with no signs of resistance on his part, and before long I had my chin back on his shoulder, immersed in that laundry-fresh cotton scent that came off as strong and refreshing as it'd had the last time we wound up like this.

In that moment I didn't once realize how a nobody like me could hug the world's greatest detective, not once but twice. In fact his status didn't matter to me anymore. Status never really does when you think about it. We treat it like it does, I guess because if we didn't then there'd be no point in having law or government and all, but it doesn't. When it boiled down to it L, when I ripped off your tinsel, looked past your screensaver, you were just another person, a crazy yahoo with wishes and fears and burdens like me. Whatever those might've been.

We're all crazy yahoos with wishes and fears and burdens…

Just like before, L turned almost as stiff as a board. For the longest time neither of us said a word or moved a muscle, though I did squeeze my eyes shut in order to stop crying before I could start. I don't know why exactly I felt like tearing up. I just felt so overwhelmed. I mean, I could never replace Light. I didn't want to. You don't replace friends; you just make your circle bigger so there's more room for everyone. I just wanted to let L know that even though Light wasn't there right now, somebody was, in the best way I knew how.

That didn't keep me from feeling embarrassed as hell when I eventually pulled away though. Pushing my glasses back up on my face, I spun my chair around by almost one-eighty degrees so he wouldn't see my face combusting. Man, I'm such a sap. I keep trying not to be but I am anyway. Besides it wasn't like L was too crazy about me…

"I—I'm sorry." I shrank a little in my seat as I grabbed the back of my neck. "Guess I'm too huggy for my own good." I snuck a glance across the room at the door. It suddenly looked ten miles away.

My knees felt like they'd gone to rust as I slowly rose from my seat. "I…I should go. Sorry for, uh, holding you up, Ryuzaki. You can keep the candy, though." God, was he killing me.

I'd barely uprooted myself out of the chair when I thought I heard L say, "There's no need to leave. You're welcome to stay, if you wish."

"Nah, I really should go." I added with a half-hearted chuckle, "I'm a…I'm a pest anyway, like you said—"

"Please stay, Elin. I insist."

Despite myself, I had to twist my pinkie around in my ear when I heard that. Had I heard that right? The chair seemed to pull on my ass like a magnet, and before I knew it I was seated again.

"Dude, I'm a—what's the word you use—I'm a nuisance. You don't really want me to stick around…do you?" My tongue was start to paste itself to the roof of my mouth. To be honest, I was kind of nervous about his answer. Can't say why exactly.

"Actually, I believe I would mind more if you left than if you stayed. That is, if what you really want right now is to stay."

I cringed; my head was aching all of a sudden. Guy was making no sense at all. "I've always thought if somebody was a nuisance then you wouldn't want them around no matter what."

"While it is indeed true that you are a nuisance," said L, pouring himself another cup, "that's all I've ever said. I don't recall ever explicitly saying I disliked you. A nuisance is, by definition, something or someone that is vexatious, annoying or inconvenient. Whether I like or dislike the nuisance as a whole is irrelevant."

I fought the temptation to scratch my head but my scalp was on fire. That's how confused I was. Him and his word-games…

"Wait, wait. So, how can I be a nuisance…but at the same time you don't—you don't dislike me?"

L's face never once shifted a muscle since this conversation had started. He looked up towards the ceiling again, like he'd find his answer up there, and this is what he came back with: "You're a good person."

That was all. Not "you're a smart person" or "a strong person" or "a pretty cool person." Just "you're a good person." Whatever that meant. He'd been far more elaborate with Misa when he'd told her how her bravery and love for Light was boundless and all, though I never knew for sure how much of it he'd meant, if any. Now here he was calling me a good person and I felt like I needed a dictionary. He had a talent of mangling ordinary words whose meanings I used to believe I knew.

"So…I'm a nuisance, but a good person at the same time?"

Slurp. "Correct."

What did they call it when a guy used two mutually exclusive statements at once? A contradiction? An oxymoron? Insane troll logic? A Starburst™?

And yet, I couldn't help the heat that pricked my face. Even if you don't really know what someone means by "a good person," it's kind of nice when they call you that, in an involuntary way. Coming from L, whom I hadn't imagined would consider anyone "good" or at least say so…it was a wonder I didn't start choking on my own spit.

I needed to be clear on this. An impossible task considering who I was talking to, but I had to try. "What, then? You saying that you…like me? Or you plain don't hate my guts? There's a—there's a difference, you know." There was, too.

L nodded. "Indeed, there is. I don't 'hate your guts,' as you put it. Why would you think I hated you?"

"Mn, I don't know, the way you treat me makes me wonder sometimes."

"I could say the same about you, except I know that you don't hate me either. Actually, contrary to what you might say I don't think you're capable of hating anyone. At least not deeply or for very long. Or else you wouldn't be sitting here with me right now."

I didn't know what to say to that.

"Also, it's been a recurrent observation of mine that people tend to insult each other when they're fond of each other."

"Uh...yeah, but that usually comes after you've known someone long enough to be that comfortable with them, a-and vice versa."

"Hm. Well, I don't hate you at any rate. I never did. Although…you wouldn't necessarily be wrong to also assume the former. That I do in fact rather like you." He stroked his one big toe lazily with the other as he answered.

My hand fumbled its way to my shirt collar. Was something wrong with the thermostat? It felt as though someone had cranked it all the way to maximum. Where was this coming from? Did he mean any of it?

The first thing I could come up with was, "Oh." I wanted to tell him he had a pretty squirrely way of showing somebody he liked them, thinking back on how he'd always treated me and everyone else here. He'd told Aizawa that he liked him before he'd made him leave us and Light and Misa were, as he'd professed himself, his friends.

But L was L. If he were a D&D™ character his Charisma would be 2 at best. Wasn't like I could change that.

"O…okay so, uh, just so we have at least a vague understanding of each other, so there's, um, no misinterpretation going on: how much do you think you like me, exactly?" That last part came out a little hoarse for my liking. I was expecting an answer within the ballpark of "like a friend" or "like a sister," or even "like a loud annoying neighbor who's not really all that bad when you take the time to get to know her." I just wanted to make sure he didn't like me in the way Misa had been yammering about for all those months.

As if that was scientifically possible anyway. We were different species practically, species that don't normally get along in the wild but could probably put up with each other if their survival depended on it, but only then and just until the danger passed. Then it's back to status quo.

Sort of like apples and oranges: they're both fruit with tough skins and they both grow on trees with blossoms, but that's pretty much all they've got in common. Oh yeah, and they both make sweet, tangy juice and you can put them in just about any bread, salad, or dessert. But that's really all. You still can't really mix them together.

I should have known better. I got a figure instead. "I estimate two percent."

Two percent? Uhm…wow. Two percent. That was like, nothing. Well, no, not really nothing. Actually coming from him, two percent was kind of generous. Nevertheless I was left to interpret that on my own.

"So, as a friend, then? That's—that's cool. I think." I kept pausing to make sure I was wording this right: "I…I think you're okay, too. Well, not really. I-I mean, you're okay in your own backwards way; I wouldn't call you 'all right' by normal standards. No, wait! N-not calling you a freak or anything, even if you kinda are one—wait, I'm just…gaaah!"

I smashed my face in my hands. God, was he killing me. "Look, uh, wha-what I'm trying to say is—"

"It's fine, Elin. I understand." Like he knew what I thought of him before I did.

Slurp. 

"Thank you."

I finally gathered enough confidence to look up with a lopsided smile. "So…we're cool? Are we…are we friends?"

"I don't oppose the idea." Not a direct yes; less direct than when Misa had offered her friendship. But, he didn't exactly say no either so...

"Well, all right then! I say this calls for a celebration. And I've got just the thing: let's you and me split a candy bar, our first one as buddies!" I declared, feeling oddly liberated for some reason now that I'd learned that L didn't hate my guts. Well, he'd said that he didn't.

So I reached into my back pocket to fish out the bar, my favorite brand that I'd been saving for the end of the night…to come up empty-handed. "What the—?"

I twisted around to look behind me and around the floor. "Huh, that's funny. I could've sworn I had a Crunch™ bar in my pocket. Where did it—"

That's when I heard familiar grunting noises from behind me. When I turned around, L's cheeks were all puffed out and everything, like he had something in his mouth. Kind of like a squirrel with its nuts. The minute our eyes met, he shamelessly gulped it all down and licked his lips.

Go figure: you try to show a guy some love and how does he respond? He bogarts your candy bar. He must've swiped it when I was hugging him or something. Didn't I say he would find a way to spoil anything I did? All right, maybe I should've seen that one coming. But still.

I scowled with anger I couldn't say I really felt. "Aw, ya big weasel! C'mere!"

I wound up initiating him with a noogie, instead. But all the while, I was laughing like a bastard. I don't know why I was laughing, exactly. I guess since L hadn't been quite like himself for the past couple of days, I found a weird sense of relief in the fact that he'd stolen my candy bar. I took it as a sign that maybe he hadn't changed all that much, after all.

L didn't move when I administered the noogie. He sort of just sat there and let me do it. Either because he just didn't think I could hurt him if I wanted to…or he trusted me.

Whoa. Trust? That wasn't something he was too damn generous with. He wasn't too generous with a lot of things. Or at least, when he was generous, he was very selective about it. Not to say that I didn't hope he trusted me, but I could've been thinking too much into it.

…

We spent pretty much the rest of our time pigging out, exchanging plenty of candy until we had us a molehill of wrappers and very few words between us. Few I can remember off the top of my head, at least. Mostly because I couldn't hold the sugar as well as L could.

I don't know how long I was out, but the next time I opened my eyes, groggy as hell, I wasn't at the desk. I woke up on the couch, instead, pillow under my head and blanket over me. My glasses sat on the edge of the coffee table next to me.

Huh? H...how did I get all the way over here? 

Straining to prop myself up on my elbow, I rubbed the crud out of my eyes and slipped my glasses back on my face. When I sat up high enough to look across the room, I found L in the same spot and position he'd been in, the last time I saw him. Only difference was, his slouch seemed more pronounced than before, until I could barely see the top of his head.

Wrapping the blanket around me like a shawl, I stumbled off of the couch to check him out. I got no response when I peered over his shoulder. He kept as still as a statue.

Is he dead? He's not dead, is he? 

No, he wasn't dead. Upon closer, careful inspection of his face, I noticed his raccoon eyes were closed underneath the shadow of his bangs, his thumb dangling precariously from his lips like a pacifier, while his other hand hugged his knees to his chest in a sort of upright fetal position. He may not have been dead, but seeing him like that stunned me almost as much, from head to toe.

Was he sleeping?

Whoa. "Journalist Sleeps With World's Best Detective." In the loosest sense of the term.

But that wasn't the point. Point was, I'd never seen him sleep before, not one wink. Seeing him do it, just when I started to figure he flat out didn't do it, felt like watching a world wonder—never mind how the hell he managed to do it while staying crouched in a swivel chair. Like he'd nodded off in the middle of working.

I wondered if he fell asleep like that often. And how long he slept.

I dared not even breathe by him, afraid to wake him up. I mean, it killed me to look into his face: even in sleep, his affect was flat. But I found it to be a different kind of flat from the kind he displayed when awake. This "flat" seemed to me like the kind that a guy would wear when he'd be busy barring back thoughts too heavy to ever allow to reach his consciousness, if he wanted to stay functional. I don't know, it was tough to put his face into words.

What did he dream about when he slept? Did he even dream, at all?

Aw, look at'cha...

God, he never looked so…non-threatening to me, maybe even vulnerable. He never looked this vulnerable when awake. But then, I don't think there's anyone on the planet that can look tough in their sleep.

Before I knew it, I was unwrapping my blanket to tuck it over him like a cape, hands trembling with the fear of accidentally brushing against him and waking him up. I winced with every quiet rustle the blanket made as I spread it over him.

You need this more than I do. 

He did, too. He wasn't shivering or anything, but he somehow looked to me like he needed a blanket, anyway.

I suddenly felt the need to walk off the tingle in my legs, but I wasn't sure if it would be right to just leave him like that. In the end, though, I did, because had I stuck around to watch him for any longer, I would've woken him up, somehow. I was simply too noisy.

I tiptoed all the way to the elevator to go up on the roof for a little fresh night air. Well, it could've been morning, but I didn't care too much about that. I just needed fresh air. When I reached the rooftop to watch the city lights flicker and dance, I kept thinking about us. About that two percent, how he said I was a nuisance but a good person too, how he might've been the one that had me put on the couch and all (he got me a blanket, yet didn't have enough sense to get one for himself, go figure).

I still didn't quite get any of it; the more I tried to, the more light-headed I got. Good thing I had my fresh air.

I wondered how things were going to be, from now on. Would he keep picking on me? Probably. That was just how he rolled. And I would keep responding in the spazzy way I always did, because that was how I rolled. The only thing that would change was that I wouldn't feel so much like I hated his guts, anymore. Hopefully. Not too much. That gets pretty draining, after a while, hating a guy's guts.

Then I started to wonder about the case. Would it ever end? What would happen when it did? I'd get to go home, that much I was sure of. But would I ever see or hear from any of the task force again? Would Kira ever be caught at all?

Whoosh! 

The sound of an enormous bat-like thing firing up alongside the building had me on the concrete in a heartbeat, my skin lying about ten feet away. No one's Halloween is complete without having the shit scared out of them at least once.

Except the thing was no bat. It was Rem. I caught her again as she sailed overhead, slicing the cool breeze with every beat of leathery bat-like wings I never guessed that she had. She stopped only for a second, suspended in mid-air like a mobile.

Picking up my glasses off of the ground before anything could happen to them, I rubbed out my eyes and cried, "Whoa! Hey, Rem! That you? I didn't know shinigami could fly! Oh, uh, how did you enjoy the candy, by the way?"

Rem didn't answer me, either because she hadn't heard me or she didn't feel like answering. Either way, I found myself watching her for awhile, figuring she was only out here to escape the stuffiness of the indoors. For all of her freakiness there was something kind of fascinating about the way she flitted across the dark vault of the sky like a pale kite-like silhouette: a kind of grace that I wouldn't have at all expected from a shinigami, of all things. She kind of reminded me of L in that sense, and how he could hold himself in a fight with Light.

Jesus Christ: gotta love the ugly. Because sometimes if you pay enough attention, it's not really as bad as it might first seem. Since I'd gotten involved in this case, I seemed to have gained a strange new appreciation for the ugly that I couldn't remember ever having before.

But that wasn't the only reason I stayed entranced. The longer I watched her, the more intense that sense of déjà vu grew. I kept thinking to myself, I've seen her before. But was that her I saw or some other shinigami? 

…

It hit me like a flock of flying ice cream trucks. My second Halloween scare for the night. Didn't I say that memory is a terrific thing? I did see something like her once, when I'd first came to Japan to make something out of myself and had made a first-class fool out of myself trying to talk about it. Hell, that one isolated incident was probably the thing that knocked over the first domino that started the whole mess I was currently in.

As soon as sensation returned to my legs, the first thing I did was scramble back on my feet and dash for the entrance back inside. Almost broke my crazy neck, while I was at it.

What happened to that stupid thing! Oh God, he better not have burned it!


	23. Trust

I was willing and prepared to march right outside, grab the whole goddamn building by its foundation and flip it over if it would help me find that dumb picture. No joke. The only reason I didn't do that right away was because I still had enough sense to first seek out our golden-year golden boy, the keeper of just about everything. That and I can't actually flip entire buildings upside-down though sometimes I wish I could.

"Watari! Watari! Are you up? Please be up!" I hadn't even logged on to the computer—hell, I'd barely just barged into my room—and I was already calling out to the old man. Being L's partner or assistant or whatever, I figured he would know where it was. Oh God, he better have known!

Bee-beep. 

"Yes, Miss Crocker? What is it?" 

I stopped for a second to plop down on the side of the bed to catch my breath, holding up a finger to him—or his "W," I guess—to give me a minute. Boy, with all of the running I did around headquarters I found it a blue-eyed wonder how I could still be out of shape.

A part of me blamed L's junk food for that. He kept it stashed all over the place.

Once I had the breath for coherence I gripped either side of the laptop, leaning in close enough for the screen to fry my eyeballs into prunes, my runner's high messing up my balance. "Watari, yes! Listen, sorry for coming to you like this," I panted, "but I—I gotta know: where's my stuff? Y-you guys didn't burn it or something, did you? You b-b-better not have! If you did, I'm gonna—"

"It's all right, Miss Crocker. Your belongings are safe and secure. Though I'm curious as to why you ask. Is there a problem?" I was kind of glad he'd picked up where I'd trailed off; I didn't know what exactly I would do, had they burned everything I'd brought with me. It sure would've sucked, though, sucked to the magnitude of ten. Had they burned that picture in particular, they would've damned us all to the bowels of hell. Probably.

I took a deep breath to steel my nerves. Well, more of a gulp than a deep breath. "All right, look: there's an old picture of mine that I really need to look at. I think it could—"

I had to pause to gulp again. Watari's "W" was splitting into two before my eyes. "I dunno for sure…but I think it might be able to help the case. It might. I-I dunno; that's why I need to see it. Please, Watari? You—you just gotta let me see it, just for a minute…please…"

How fortunate that Watari had always been more agreeable than L; you'd have a better chance negotiating with him than with his sugar-junkie friend. "All you had to do was ask. Which picture do you need to see?" 

I drew back to wipe the ache out of my eyes. "A sky-picture. Well, it wasn't supposed to be a sky-picture…but at any rate, way back in—oh God, how long's it been—April? Yeah, April. I took it while I was touring the Ginza District."

I'd had spent six months wrapped up in the story of the century, almost the whole time I'd spent in Japan altogether. Imagine that. How was I still on my feet? Just thinking about that numbed me from the toes upward. I guess it hadn't done me that much good to have been counting; if anything, it'd helped to drive me even crazier.

"I see. I will retrieve this picture right away, Miss Crocker." 

"Oh! Hey, wait! Listen. The reason I say it's not just a sky-picture is—uh…" I had to clench my fists; my hands shook so much, the more I thought back on that day on the town.

"I—I saw something when I took that picture. Can't say what, exactly. J-just a thing. But for some reason when I tried to show it to other people, no one else could see it. And then I couldn't see it anymore. Only I could. I dunno if you'll be able to see it, but on the off-chance that you do…just be prepared. I don't want you keeling over on me—"

"You needn't worry about that, Miss Crocker. Though your concern is immensely appreciated." He spoke through a filter and everything, but I couldn't detect a mite of sarcasm in the old man's voice. He was a pretty cool guy.

"And if you can't see it and I'm just crazy after all, please smack me with a frying pan." That's not something you'd want to say if you were anything like me. If I'd gone around telling that to everyone I'd ever tried to have a conversation with, I would be in a coma, already, probably.

But I was nervous. No, not nervous. I was scared. Scared of ever seeing that picture again. Scared of what I would find if I would find anything.

The monster at the Ginza District and Rem…what if they're…? 

I almost applauded for Watari when I finally heard him knock on my door. Upon letting him in, he handed me the picture, just as crumpled as it'd been the last time I'd seen it. Only this time, I noticed that he had laminated it, because it was evidence and all, I figured.

"Thank you, Watari! Thank you, thank you! You rock! You flat-out rock!" I gushed, bowing all over the place until my glasses almost slipped off the tip of my nose.

"You're welcome," he replied with a smile. Immediately, though, deep thoughtful creases etched into his brow. "I must say, this is indeed an unusual photograph, Miss Crocker. The figure in the picture wasn't visible before. Is this the 'thing' that you were speaking of?"

…

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. As a journalist, I'd always been an avid believer of that adage since my career was pretty much based on words and pictures. But God, this one lousy picture began screaming volumes into my face as soon as I could settle down to examine it…and to be honest, I didn't like a single word it said. Not one mite.

The whole time Watari and I looked the stupid thing over, I kept shaking my head like one of those corny bobbleheads for truck dashboards. No. No, this…this can't be right.

I would've thought that having someone else finally see what I was seeing would be the best thing in the world, but it wasn't. Far from it, actually. Watari kept pointing out everything I kept denying, even if the guy couldn't help it. Neither could I. More and more, the shock was becoming too much to reasonably cope with, any other way.

"This thing…it bears quite a resemblance to Rem, doesn't it?" Watari murmured.

Who was he kidding? Or rather who was I kidding? Even if the picture was sort of on the fuzzy side, and I could only see the thing's backside, the resemblance was disturbing. But then hell, so was the concept of shinigami and killer notebooks in general.

Ever since I put one and one together I'd had this crazy suspicion, a fear, even, that maybe Rem and the monster from the Ginza District were connected in some way. Now that I had it all spread out in front of me, things were not pointing in that direction at all.

By that I mean, not only could the two be related…but they'd turn out to be one and the same. Down to a tee.

My mind began to hum like I had a nest of angry hornets stuck in my head. When the team had brought her back to headquarters, I and they could recognize her as soon as we'd each touched the notebook.

If that really was Rem I'd seen all those months ago, how had I—?

Could Misa have had the notebook on her when I'd bumped into her? And somehow, I'd managed to touch it? 

Did I settle for that? Hell no, I wouldn't. While my head raced faster and faster to piece this puzzle together, my heart fought tooth and claw to tear it back apart with some kind of excuse, a rationalization, for everything. Already I'd begun to hate the picture simmering before my eyes. I mean loathe it.

The gradual rise of bile corroded my insides from the liver upward. "Watari…that can't be Rem, it just can't be. I ran into Misa before I saw this thing. If that there's Rem, w-wouldn't that mean…"

Watari must've sensed my distress because he reached out to lay an assuring, almost paternal hand on my shoulder.

My head snapped up in a burst of conviction, hopeless as it was. "No. No way, there's no way. Misa can't be the S-Second Kira. She could've never been the Second Kira." Every time that filthy word rolled off my tongue, it pasted it to the roof of my mouth. "Kira." That one four-letter word suddenly sounded filthier in my ears than any other filthy four-letter word I had ever used in my life.

"I mean bear with me, Watari: if Rem really did used to follow Misa around, how the—how the hell did we find her and the notebook with Higuchi? And…and the rules in the notebook, what about them? L-like that one rule: 'Once a human starts writing in the notebook, they have to write down at least one name every thirteen days, or they'll die.' That's what it said, right?"

"Yes, that's true." Watari answered thoughtfully. "However…"

His grip on my shoulder slightly tightened. To be honest, I didn't know whether or not to call it good to have somebody as knowledgeable as Watari around to help me figure this entire mess out. He started drawing conclusions that I just refused to touch, even as I made them myself. And it wasn't like I could tell him to stop either.

"We must also consider that Kira's power—namely, the notebook—can pass from person to person, by the will of the individual who owns it, at the time. Once it is passed, said individual will lose all of their memories relating to the notebook and what they did with it."

"There were like hundreds of people on the street that day. M-maybe I bumped into someone else with the notebook..."

He cupped his chin, deep in thought. "There is another thing to consider: if Amane did in fact have the notebook when you encountered her, and she had at any time been acting as the Second Kira…then there's the possibility that the thirteen-day rule either somehow has no effect on her, or the rule is a fraud."

That had me snapping my head up so high, it was a miracle I didn't break my neck. "Fake rules in a notebook? Don't yank my chain, old man! It's written right in the cover, for Christ's sake! And Rem said that all the rules in there were true…"

I started trailing off. That Rem: ever since we'd brought her in, she'd been dodgier than a geek who'd got picked last for a dodgeball game. At first, I thought maybe shinigami were just a little braindead—they were gods of death, after all, so why wouldn't it make sense if they were dead in a couple other areas?—but now that Watari had thrown that idea out into the open—a fraudulent rule—the gears in my head spun so fast that my eyes stung and clouded from the corners inward, like I had smoke in them.

Rem wouldn't lie about how her own notebook worked.

Would she?

I mean, why would she lie? It wasn't like she needed to protect herself; her species practically gave her diplomatic immunity from our system. Plus since she was kind of…dead-ish already for lack of a better term, that would make that rule kind of null and void for her, wouldn't it?

…

My fingers reached up to dig into my scalp, trying to keep my top from popping off. Was she covering up for someone else?

Huh. Who the hell could she have been covering for? And why? It wasn't like she had anything to gain in doing that. Or lose, for that matter.

Right? Shinigami didn't cover for the humans they possessed…did they? I mean, she'd sure done a lousy job covering for Higuchi, in light of what'd happened to him.

At any rate, my frustrations pushed me back on my bed, spread-eagle. "What're we gonna do, Watari?" I moaned. "What?" I couldn't even think of anything smarter to say.

"Well, I would assume that our first step would be to inform the others," he answered. Guy was only trying to be helpful, and right away I felt sorry for cutting him an attitude.

Though not quite enough to not prop myself up high enough to blurt, "NO, we can't do that!" First thing out of my mouth, with zero thought put into it. Watari looked at me for a long time, like I'd just spoken in Pig Latin.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I took off my glasses to rub out my eyes. "I-I mean, I don't know if we can, Watari. Or if we should. I mean, we can't actually prove that Rem had ever possessed Misa at any point in time before possessing Higuchi, can we? And—and it's not like we have to say anything right away, do we? No new criminals have died yet…"

Most of all though, I just didn't want Misa to turn out to be the Second Kira. Please God, if you exist and care at all, don't have Misa be the Second Kira! 

But at the same time I felt myself shrink with shame, like a wool sweater in the dryer. When it all boiled down to it we'd have to tell the others. I was a damn journalist! And a friend, too. I had like, a moral obligation to tell the truth when it needed to be told no matter which position I took, even if no one listened. Who was I to delay it? In most legal circles this would probably be considered perjury.

On the flip side, as Misa's friend the last thing I wanted to do was pop up with something that would incriminate her. Wrongfully, I mean. I'd made that mistake so many times in the past (granted, it was all very minor stuff compared to what I was facing here) I never ever wanted to do it again.

So, what was the truth…?

"I…I gotta think about this, Watari. I'm sorry. Thank you for everything, though. No joke."

Watari stood up with a warm mustachioed smile. "Not a problem, Miss Crocker." He collected the photograph and started heading out the door when I quick called him back.

Poking his head through the doorway, he asked, "Yes?"

"Uh…maybe I'm not exactly in a position to ask you this, but…c-could you please not tell the others? Or Ryuzaki? At least not yet. I don't wanna…end up giving them wrong directions, so to speak. You know?"

I shouldn't have asked him to do that. What was I thinking? Before anything else in the world, he was L's right-hand man. Of course he'd have tons more loyalty to L than to me. I was nobody. As soon as that crossed my mind, I instantly felt sorry I'd ever dragged Watari into this dilemma of mine, no matter how relevant it could've been to the case.

The answer he gave me didn't exactly help me feel better either. "I'll try."

…

I spent the rest of the night in my room, mulling over everything. Or more like, trying not to mull over everything. The more my mind kept drifting back to Rem and Misa, the more violent did my urge to throw up grow, to the point where I had my wastebasket right by my side, just in case.

It can't be true. It just CAN'T be. As far as I know, L and Watari are the only two who know about the picture. Would it be safe to talk about it? I mean, no one's gonna believe me, even if I say something. Hell, I don't even believe me! 

Somehow, I managed to fall asleep, most likely out of my desperate need to put it all out of my mind, to escape for awhile, even though I would have to face the music later once I awoke again. But even in sleep, I couldn't find total sanctuary. That dream came back. That fever dream, the one with the building out in the rain before going up in flames…yeah, that one.

The silhouette hovering over it…it reminded me of a shinigami, this time around. Rem, maybe?

The fantastic rush of heat in my face slapped me back to reality…but to be honest, it didn't terrify me nearly as much as what I woke up to when my eyes popped open to embrace the unforgiving light. I found ten bare, white toes wiggling in front of my nose. What a thing to wake up to!

The whole world somersaulted—or that could've just been me—and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor, my spine cracked in about five or six places.

"R-Ryuzaki?" I squeaked. "Is that you? What the—what're you doing here?" Once I could catch my breath, I mustered all the strength I still had to cling on to the sheets to hoist myself up into a kneeling position by the bed. "How long have you…?"

I stopped. I wasn't sure if I wanted to know that much.

Sure enough, I found L on the other side, snug in his little monkey-crouch with his hands cupped over his knees. How he'd managed to stay in that exact spot while I'd tumbled off of the bed went down in the records as one of life's great cold cases. For a clumsy-looking fella, he sure had a lot of balance.

With a slight cock of his messy head, he said, "Good-morning, yourself." He paused.

"You left."

I clutched the back of my aching head. "I what?"

"I said I'd mind more if you left than if you stayed. Yet you left, anyway."

Oh. He'd noticed that? I wiped the ache out of my eyes before fumbling by the nightstand for my glasses. "Where'd you think I would go, to make my grand escape through the tunnel I've been secretly digging to New York with a spoon?"

That's not really something you'd want to say to a guy like L, who'd dismember a picture frame if he thought there was a bomb attached to it. When I saw him press his thumb up to his lips like the way he did when he got suspicious, I bit my lip. "I-I mean, I only left 'cause I didn't want to wake you up."

"I must inform you that you failed. Your snoring aroused me…or rather, the lack thereof."

"HUH? Hey man, number one: I do not snore! And number tw—wait, what?" I felt like I'd just broke out into a rash. "You woke up because I wasn't snoring? P-provided that I was snoring, in the first place, of course."

"Yes."

I…had no comment for that. L, you always had a knack of leaving me at a loss for words, always so backwards.

Before I could even decide to relax, however, he said something I was afraid he would say. "Something is on your mind."

I had to get the old pinkie in my ear to clear it out. "Huh?"

"Something troubles you." Almost like what Watari asked me all of the time, but as a statement instead of a question. Like he already knew something bugged the hell out of me and refused me any room to say otherwise.

"Would you care to talk about it?"

I quick reached up to wipe the tension out of my face, like that would do me any good. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm fine. And, ha, even if I had something on my mind—which I don't—since when did you start caring?" Seriously. Not once had L ever demonstrated a mite of concern for what I thought.

Now just when he started to, I hadn't wanted him. If I wanted up, he'd go down. If I wanted down, he'd go up. Did he do that on purpose? I was never sure.

That's not to say that I didn't feel lousy for keeping things from him. Because I did, more than I could attempt to describe. Just from looking into his face, a fat sticky lump bumped up into my throat, which seemed to tighten with every swallow. L wasn't a very trusting guy; if there was even half a chance that he really trusted me—me, of all people—I didn't want the burden of being the one to crush it.

Besides that, friends in general don't keep things from each other. They shouldn't, anyway, not if those things could help each other out.

But what should I do if that "thing" regarded another friend of mine…?

While I duked that out in the back of my mind, I told L, "Well…never mind me. What's on yours?"

I would wish I'd never asked that, because the answer he gave me almost killed me on sight. He glanced up towards the ceiling for a second or two, cool as hell, then came back with:

"It seems that criminals are dying again."

THUD! 

I floundered around on the floor like a trout out of water as I tried to scuffle back up: the most mature response I'd ever had to anything, boy. Fainting would've been so much better, to be honest.

Clinging to the sheets like a lifeline, I sputtered, "WHAT DID YOU SAY?" 

"Criminals are dying again," L repeated calmly. "The killings resumed yesterday, to be precise." God, what terrific news to wake up to.

My voice must've shot up at least two octaves. "O-okay, now you must be taking me for a ride! How can that—th-th-there's no way—"

Higuchi was dead! And Rem and the notebook were still here! There was no way criminals could still be dying! Unless…

L grunted as he rose up on his feet to hop off the bed. "If you doubt me, then I'll have to ask you to come downstairs." Once he strolled over to my side, he offered me a hand.

That alone almost had me floundering around again. L had never tried to help me up before.

…

"What's going on? I hear criminals are being killed again!"

The whole group had gathered around the desk as soon as the news had reached everyone…except Rem, who stayed looming in the back of the room, like she always did. Aizawa sat at a computer, his stare grave and fixed on the screen. "There were sixteen deaths yesterday, Chief: all of them broadcast after Higuchi's death."

Matsuda stood behind him, breathing, "Immediately after, huh…?"

"Do you think this could mean," said Mr. Yagami, "that Higuchi wasn't necessarily Kira after all?"

"No," said Light. "It's safe to say that Higuchi was the one killing criminals until we apprehended him."

Aizawa's eyes narrowed. "Then this means, we're dealing with yet another Kira."

L hadn't been yanking my chain, after all; that was a first. As soon as I heard that, my head got a first-class ticket to the desk, shielding my face with my arms so no one could see me turning green. ANOTHER Kira? Jesus F. Christ! When will this end? 

I wished he had been yanking my chain.

I wasn't the only one wigging out, either. Far from it. Poor Matsuda clutched his head as though trying to keep it from exploding into a cloud of confetti. "Aw maaaan! Not again!"

Light's jaw clenched almost as tightly as his fist. "Damn! Damn you, Kira," he snarled. Damn is the Understatement of the Year, Light-o. 

Light took a breath, his hand holding in chin in thought. "This can only mean that there really is another notebook, out there. Isn't that right, Rem?"

"Could be. A shinigami wouldn't go out of his way to kill only criminals..."

As if that bombshell hadn't been enough, L said something that made my stomach drop to the floor. "These killings began as soon as Misa was freed, didn't they?" he asked, already going to work on the box of panda crackers he'd brought with him.

"Ryuzaki! You're still going on about that?" demanded Light, while L tried to munch over his words. "She has nothing to do with this. Think about it: this started as soon as Higuchi died. And even if she did somehow get a notebook, she wouldn't be so stupid as to use it now."

"And with the 13-Day rule, it can't possibly be Amane," Aizawa chided, not appreciative in the least about L's broken-record stubbornness. He wasn't the only one.

I only peeked up high enough to see L tip the box over and dump a scattered pile of tiny, smiling panda-shaped crackers and crumbs on the desk, right all over the open pages of the notebook, for Christ's sake. "I suppose you're right," he mumbled, selecting two random crackers to pinch between his fingers as he held each up to either cheek.

He eyed them both like sugar-coated sacrifices. "Oh, well. If there is another notebook floating around out there, and someone is now using it to kill criminals—"

The sound of the morsels cracking in his fingertips rang like the cracking of bone, in my ears. The monitor room had a way of magnifying even the measliest sounds out of proportion.

"…I'll just have to bring that person to justice," he murmured, proceeding to bite the heads off of both poor little graham pandas. Biting the heads off of little pandas! Even with everything else going on, that managed to kill me. I swear to God, he could've been the next Ozzy™, if he felt like it.

"We're talking about a notebook you can kill someone with just by writing their name in it," said Mr. Yagami. "If all this new Kira does is kill criminals, it won't be as easy to pinpoint him as it was with Higuchi."

"Aw, you're right," said Matsuda. "How should we tackle this, then?"

"Since we know how these murders are committed, if we find someone suspicious, we will arrest him and see if they have a notebook."

Kid, that pretty much sums up the approach we took before this whole fiasco with Yotsuba. Where did that get us except in a dead end? 

Criminals are dying again…could it be—no! No, it can't be Misa. Not Misa, anyone but her! If she ever had Rem's notebook at any time, we have it now, don't we? So how can—

"Ryuzaki, I've been thinking," said Light. Oh, now they were speaking to each other again? "Even if we do manage to catch the person who's been writing names in the notebook, will we really be able to legally convict and punish them for mass homicide?"

"The notebook would have to be tested. But that's not my top concern. Once we solve the case, we'll let the courts worry about that."

"What? Of course we can convict them!" said Matsuda. "This guy is intentionally writing names in the notebook, knowing that these people are going to die. Even if we don't plan on publicly acknowledging the notebook, the least we can do is execute the killer in secret!" His arm sliced the air as if slicing a...I couldn't finish that simile.

I don't think old Matsuda meant to, but the instant the word "execute" escaped his lips, he might as well have twisted a screwdriver into my back.

"It's not a very humane way to do things," said Aizawa, "but the higher-ups would probably want to take measures like that."

"If they'd admit to killing with the notebook, they'd receive the death penalty," said L, "or at least life in prison." He stuffed a couple more crackers into his mouth. "That's the best that they could hope for," he mumbled with his cheeks inflated. "As I said, we will cross that bridge when we actually get to it." What a thing to say with your mouth full!

Once he demolished the crackers, he placed his hands on his knees and stared down at the notebook, his analytical gaze focused in particular on the page with the torn corner. As soon as I noticed the intense look on concentration on his face, I backed off. Could it be that he was thinking harder about this than he let on, and had just said that to placate us? No one could talk to L when he had that face on. I wasn't sure I wanted to, either. I was too petrified to say a word to anyone.

Either way, he'd answered a question I'd been meaning to ask even before I could find the stones to ask it. What would happen if they caught Misa? 

Yeah. That's what I figured. 

That was enough for me. I desperately needed fresh air to clear out the morbidity clouding my mind. Otherwise, I might've lost it, right then and there. While I mustered the strength to rise out of my seat, I somehow caught a glimpse of Rem. For some reason, she looked kind of weirded out. Oh, she'd always looked weirded out, don't get me wrong. And yet…there was just something more off about the way she stared off into space. Her yellow slit for an eye seemed to widen a little, her purple mouth gaping a mere inch or two more until I could see tiny fangs gleaming from what would otherwise be just a void on her face. Like we'd stunned her, somehow.

Stranger still, I caught Light checking her out.

Huh. What was that strange smirk doing on his lips? I'd never seen him smirk like that before. There was a sort of…vaguely creepy, chilling energy about it.

"What're you smirking about?" I croaked. L snuck a glance at his fellow genius over his rounded shoulder.

As if my words had broken whatever spell was on him, Light turned to me and flashed me a calm, even smile, like he hadn't been smirking devilishly two seconds ago. "Oh, it's nothing. This case has certainly taken an unexpected turn, but I'm confident we'll be able to bring Kira to justice, yet."

Matsuda pumped his fist into the air. "Yeah! Ditto!" he cheered. The way his face glowed with determination just about killed me.

"Hm? You don't look so good, Elin. Maybe you should go rest?" Light suggested.

In spite of my best efforts, the tip of my tongue slung out. "Probably just something I ate," I moaned. "I did gorge on a lot of candy, yesterday. Gentlemen, include me out." That was a pretty yellow thing to do, walking out and all. But since Light had offered me a ticket out of the monitor room, I had to jump on it. Had I stayed any longer, I might've blurted something I couldn't bring myself to share yet, just to get rid of the god-awful churning in my stomach.

It's not true. It's not true. It can't be true, like the others say...coincidence is just stupid, sometimes...

…

Almost an hour later, the world came crashing down.

Oh, it started out innocently enough. I was sitting out by the window in my room, looking out at the city, trying so hard to appreciate the beauty that came with an urban morning because I sure as hell didn't feel like concentrating on anything else. Like people weren't dying right as I sat there looking out the window.

In spite of all the sunshine, I spotted a billow of dark storm clouds rolling in from the far east. There's nothing more effective in killing the mood of a great morning than seeing storm clouds roll in, boy.

Should I have considered it an omen? Nah, I thought with conviction I didn't really feel. Storm clouds…huh! That's so cliché, it can't possibly mean anything. Except maybe a front. 

My eyes drifted from the skyscraper canopy to the concrete understory far below. From there, I could see a dot bouncing towards the entrance, a dot with blonde pigtails. I could recognize those pigtails from a district away.

Misa. 

Busy as she was, Misa was probably only dropping by to see Light, but she was still my friend. Being a friend, I wanted to see her, too. I needed to talk to her. I needed some kind of reassurance from her that she was, in no way, shape or form, involved in the new murders. And I thought I would get that, honest I did, because she was not Kira, much less the Second Kira. There'd been a lot of people on the street that day; I could've bumped into someone else who'd had the notebook before I ran into Misa.

She couldn't be it.

Right?

…

I was in denial. I fully admit it now.

And because I was in sweet denial, I practically bounced off the windowsill on my way out of my room to see her.

Naturally, Light beat me to her. I found him out by the entrance with his back to me, holding on to Misa by her shoulders. I'd just barely gotten out there when Light said something that made time and space around me freeze.

"It's been awhile, Ryuk."

Ryuk? Who's Ryuk? I couldn't see anyone else out there but those two lovebirds. And I had my glasses on and everything.

"I'm sure that things have been boring without me. Don't be sure of this: the wait will have been worth it."

Light was about to turn around—towards my direction, which might have sealed my doom right then and there—when Misa pulled him back towards her. Her voice was cracking, like she'd either done something terrible or had neglected to do something she was supposed to have done.

"Light, I'm so sorry! I don't remember Hideki Ryuga's real name anymore! I tried, but I totally forgot." She bowed her head as though she were bowing to a god, begging for forgiveness.

Uh…what? Hideki Ryuga's real what, now?

Say. Wasn't that the alias L had created—or, I should say, ripped off from that idol—when he'd been messing around at To-Oh? Had he and Misa met at some point while he was still wearing that alias?

Pfft. How could I forget that? I was there, after all. Right after that, I'd followed old Misa in the foolish hopes of getting an interview with her and had the privilege of seeing her arrest. That's how this whole thing got started, for Christ's sake!

But just what did Misa mean by, "I don't remember his real name, anymore"?

"These 'eyes' must let you know someone's name by seeing their face after making a deal with a shinigami. You can easily deduce that from the Second Kira's statements, the incident with that traffic officer, and the fact that Higuchi headed for the Sakura TV station."

...

No.

No way. When she and L met out on the campus, did that mean she had had…?

Wouldn't that mean she really had been the…?

But…how would she know about something like that? Had she ever been…she would've lost her memories or something after giving up the notebook, wouldn't she? So how the hell could she—

Every drop of blood in my veins crystallized. I was having one of those Tweety Bird™ moments, of the worst kind imaginable: "I tawt I taw a puddy-tat!" 

"Oh, I see. Well, that's too bad." Light was about to turn around again—while I was fighting to get the sensation back in my legs so I could hightail it out of there—when Misa grabbed his attention once more.

"B-but I did the Eye Deal with Ryuk! So I can try again," she insisted hopefully.

"You idiot! If you do that, then your lifespan will—"

Lifespan? What about her lifespan? Does the Eye Deal affect how long you have to live or something? Who the flying fuck is Ryuk? Are they a—

Misa shook her head in increasing distress, fresh tears dotting the corners of her eyes. "No, it's all right. I just want to be of use to you, Light."

Why was she talking to him like this? God, if I hadn't known better, I'd have said that she were talking to—

"I DID, I DID taw a puddy-tat!" 

Only the "puddy-tat" in question was—

The morning sunlight seemed to shimmer around the couple like a halo of fire as Light pulled Misa close, a serene smile weaving into his lips. Light had always been taller than Misa (most everyone was taller than her), but it took me until now to notice just how much he towered over her. And not just in physical stature.

"Misa," he murmured, "all I want is to enjoy a long life with you in an ideal world. That's just how I feel." He never sounded so tender to Misa before. Polite, friendly, sometimes sheepish, but never tender. Was it genuine?

"But…I'm hindering you, aren't I? I'm not doing my part. If only I'd remembered Ryuga's name…I'm so sorry," Misa quietly sniffed.

"It's all right, Misa. I have a plan."

"R-really? Wow! Light, you're as resourceful as ever!"

Plan? What plan? Something told me I was about to listen in on the outline of a first-class assassination plot: yet another concept I used to fantasize about often. Except…it sure as hell didn't feel as fantastic as I would've imagined. Believe me.

"I prepared everything before we were detained. Before I lost my memory, I spent the first week of my detainment thinking over every single scenario that might occur, and what counter-measures to take against them. The current situation is not as bad as it seems."

Not for them, maybe. For me? The world suddenly looked as though I were looking into a giant cracked mirror.

He kind of just went on like that. No details or nothing. He'd never looked more full of himself than he did, then.

"If anything, it's a shortcut…for the return of Kira."

"Oh Light, I'm so happy!" Misa sighed, diving in to hug her boyfriend. She looked so small and fragile next to him. He could've crushed her like glass and I doubt she would've put up a fight at all.

The final nail through my chest: "Let's create a new world together. It'll be a place with no crime, where only kind people live. I'm not in a position right now to judge criminals…"

THAT'S what he's calling it? 

"…so please continue to judge them for me. Okay?"

Light? No, Light! Not you, too! Misa, PLEASE! Don't do this to me! 

I waited for a "Psyche!" that never came.

"Yeah." Misa seemed completely entranced by Light's words. I think I might've been, too—they sounded so noble and altruistic and all—had I not known who was speaking them.

Jesus Christ, I thought those two had been acting weird lately, but this...

And to think...to think that I almost went out there to...

I made that my cue to get the hell out of there. I couldn't bear to hear any more. I slipped back inside like a zombie, too dazed to wonder if those two—strangers—had seen me at all.

Strangers. All of a sudden, I didn't know those two kids canoodling outside; I wasn't even sure if "Light" and "Misa" were their real names. Light and Misa were my friends. Those two looked like my friends, and yet…

Every step I took felt as though the floor could disintegrate under my feet at any minute, sending me plummeting into the abyss. I sort of wished I could plummet, in a way. The way you might fall out of a nightmare. Except I was awake for this one.

I don't know how I managed to make the trek upstairs without busting holes in the elevator walls—damn near punched out the keyboard while I was pressing the buttons to take me to my floor, though—but as soon as I reached my room, I threw open the door so hard that I wouldn't have been the least bit surprised if I got up later to find a hole in the wall where the knob had made impact.

Too dazed to do much of anything else, I did the most productive thing I could do at a time like that: crashed into bed, threw the covers over myself so as to hide away like the coward I was from the reality I could no longer fight, and screamed into my pillows until my lungs shriveled into the size of raisins. My brain wasn't the only thing broken beyond belief.

When did they get their memory back? How long has this really been going on? WHY? How could they? Damn, how could they do this to us? No. Not just to us; to the whole fucking world? 

That settles it. You gotta say something. You gotta tell L. 

I can't! You think it's that simple, like some kinda stupid misunderstanding we can work out? This is remorseless mass murder we're talking about! 'Oh hey, Ryuzaki, you won't believe what I just heard our old two-timin' pals Light and Misa talk about outside, yuk yuk yuk.' How are the others gonna take it? How's Matsu and Mr. Yagami gonna take it? Besides, I don't have any proof that I'd just heard them talking about taking over the world; what happened back there was strictly hearsay! And…they're my friends…the death penalty—

Erin! Friends don't let friends kill people, especially not when you've just heard them talk about it! Jeez, is it even right anymore to call them that, "friends?" 

Well, how do you expect me to say anything with Light running the place? Oh man. What…what is he planning? 

He's out to get us. He's trying to kill L, isn't he? 

The one who called him his first friend…

My fist pounded into the headboard to break all my fingers: a temporary dose of physical pain to dull the pain in my heart. It didn't help very much. What could be worse than to be done in by the first friend you'd ever made? Nothing.

How? How did he plan to do it? Misa said that she couldn't remember his real name, whatever the hell that might've been. For that matter, when did he intend to do it? Would he do it himself?

I was clutching the pillows so tightly, they could've exploded into a cloud of feathers at any minute. Wouldn't he need a notebook to do it? Did he have one? As much as it killed me to think about it, he must've. Or else he…wouldn't have gotten his memories back.

…

We currently had a notebook sitting around, the one from Higuchi. The one without an owner…right?

"I can only take the notebook back if the owner willingly gives it up."

"Who does it belong to, now? If it belongs to anyone?"

"I don't know. And even if I did, I couldn't tell you."

…

Oh God.

Did Light somehow get ownership of the goddamn notebook when Higuchi died?

No, that couldn't be right. What about Rem? Rem used to follow Misa around. What was she doing with Light, now? Where on the great green planet did Misa find another notebook that gave her her memories back?

And that "Ryuk" character…

Another shinigami?

GAAAAH! Crap. I wasn't cut out for this.

Light…Misa…what happened to you? Your own father locked himself up because he believed in your innocence, you bastard! How could you? How could you? How could you...

Aw get a grip, Erin! For every minute you're lying here like a weenie, someone out there could be dying and L and the others are that much closer to Gonersville. Okay, so Light and Misa are Kira; you can bawl all you want but all the rivers in the world won't change that. You can't hide under here forever! Wouldn't change a thing even if you could. 

Just then, somebody knocked on the door.

"Elin? It's Matsu. A-are you okay? You've been holed up in your room for most of the day…"

Oh, Matsuda. How would he take it if he found out his mentor's son and his favorite idol were the very same killers we'd wasted months and resources tracking down? The ones who'd killed Ukita? Dear Lord, how would any of them take it? I didn't want to think about it.

I didn't answer him. The lump in my throat made it tough to.

"Are you sleeping?"

I only had enough vocals to make a snot-rattling snore, mostly going by what L had said about my snoring and all. I couldn't tell him anything. Not yet. Before anyone else, I had to speak to L. He'd be able to make heads or tails of this, wouldn't he?

…

Oh man, how would he take the news?

"Oh. O-okay, then. I'll come back to check on you later, I guess. Sleep tight, Elin." That killed me, how he'd said that so innocently and all.

He's playing them like an orchestra. He's playing us all like grade-A chumps. 

Only when I heard his footsteps disappear, did I heave a hiccupping sob into the pillows. God, was I a wimp.

About two minutes later though, I found just enough resolve to poke a shaking hand out from under the covers, to reach for the laptop. I still couldn't get out of my room, but maybe I could call Watari? Maybe he could have L come up to my room or something? With the handcuffs gone that shouldn't be a problem.

Would he? Would he listen to me? I mean, I couldn't even persuade him to go trick-or-treating on Halloween, for Christ's sake.

My fingertips had barely brushed the electronic when the door swung open, completely without warning. As though I'd touched a hot burner, my hand darted right back under the covers. I shivered as though there was a draft rolling in, even while I lay under the sheets and everything.

"I know you're awake. You might've fooled Matsuda but you can't fool me."

Huh! What a co-inky-dink, I was just about to call you! I wanted to tell him that but I still couldn't say a word, still couldn't peer up from out of the covers. I was trying to word what I was gearing up to say to him in my mind. My, his and everyone's lives were at stake, here.

"I believe this is the part where you acknowledge me with an answer."

A grunt and the shuffle of his feet against the carpet broke the tension-riveted silence. Once he reached the other side of the bed, he lifted up the corner of the sheets to peer into my face. "Hello?" Almost like a little kid. Leave it to old L to peek under a girl's covers uninvited.

In spite of myself, I just had to comment on that: "Y-y'know? Sometimes I think Misa might be right; you may not be a full-on pervert but you are kind of pervy. Or you come off that way. I mean who walks into a girl's room uninvited when she's in bed and everything?" I wiped my nose with my sleeve.

"Would you care to get out of bed, then?"

I nestled a little deeper into the mattress. L must've interpreted my silence as resistance. "You're being very childish right now," he said dryly.

I scoffed, "Takes one to know one," while fighting back another sob. Why did he have to kill me so much? Especially at a time like this?

Guess what he did then? Crazy yahoo lifted the covers a little higher as he started worming his way in under them. Out of pure reflex, I scooted as far away from him as I could until I practically teetered on the edge. "H-hey! What're you doing?"

"If you won't get out of bed, I don't suppose I have any alternative except to come in."

What was I supposed to do, shoo him off? Actually…maybe this could've been a good thing. I could've used all the discretion I could take if I was going to tell him what needed to be told. Make no mistake, though, it still felt pretty strange, watching L—L of all people—get comfortable on the exact same mattress I was in, and had been sleeping in every night for the past couple of months. Or just to see him on a mattress in general.

He curled up into a fetal position, his knees drawn up to his chest and thumbnail in his mouth, as he drew the covers over his head. Soon we were both shrouded in darkness. I'm…not sure how to describe how I felt about that, being encased in the same darkness as L in such a small space.

I gulped. My blush alone could've lit up the darkness or set the bed on fire.

I heard him say, "I must confess, I've had very little experience with beds. It does feel marginally more comfortable than a chair. And more discrete." I could hardly see his face under those covers, only hear his voice and the soft rustle of clothes against bed sheets.

"Uh…yeah. Beds are where it's at."

Trust: something else I'd taken too much for granted, like a lot of folks, before the case. Was this what real trust felt like? Lying under the covers with a guy, just talking to him, with the certainty that he won't pull a fast one on you? That any secrets you exchange stay right under those covers? Like a couple of kids huddling in the darkness together without the aid of a night-light, each apprehensive of a monster that lurked right under our noses (not meaning Rem)?

I could only imagine how L was handling it. Did he trust me? Could I fully trust him?

…

All this thinking about trust brought me back to the reason we were here. Light and Misa had killed my trust in them (Understatement of the Year Award, hands down), and if I didn't say something they'd go on to kill much more than that.

A handkerchief brushed against my knuckles. From there a small spark of warmth swam up my arm and straight into my heart despite me.

"You're crying," I heard L mutter. He always had to point it out when I cried. "Elin, if there is something on your mind, I'd say now is the time to share it. Please tell me what's wrong." The way he said that…it was almost as if he already knew but sought confirmation anyway. Either because that was just what guys like him did…

…or maybe he hadn't quite wanted to believe it either.

"What do you know?"

Damn it, I just had to start up again, didn't I? I accepted his offer, reaching up to dab at my aching eyes. My fists clenched until my fingers throbbed from the tension.

That's it, then. I don't have a choice, do I? Light, Misa, I'm sorry. But I can't knowingly sit back and let you hurt any more people. You've left me no choice. 

My voice came out barely past a whisper: "R-Ryuzaki…I'm so sorry. You—you were right."

"Right about what?"

"You were right…about everything."


	24. Choice

"Only love can transform calculating justice into creative justice. Love makes justice just. Justice without love is always injustice." 

-Paul Tillich, The New Being, 1955

…

I'd always had this fantasy where I'd prove what a great journalist I was by blowing the whistle on a conspiracy in the makings. Really save some lives before things could begin to spiral out of control.

But sohelpme, if somebody had told me beforehand that I'd go on to blow the whistle on two supernaturally aided serial killers everyone had been hunting down—who just so happened to be my friends of all things—even I might've told them they were nuts. To blow it while hiding under the covers with a man-child—who happened to be the world's greatest detective—whimpering the whole time like the baby I was at that? Doubly so.

But hell, who would've guessed that a prim and proper A-student and a bubbly model who would do my hair and talk to me about boys and trends could turn out to be the country's—no, the world's—most wanted serial killers? Even hours after the fact, the shock nauseated me to no end. Not even my disclosure to L helped to remedy it. Actually I think it made it worse, thinking back on what awaited them when—or if—they'd ever get caught.

Was I choking with tears or the urge to puke? I didn't know. It was a miracle that I could maintain even a strain of coherency.

Nevertheless, somehow without clamming up (too much) I told him everything, everything I could tell him anyway, sparing absolutely no detail no matter how gruesome. Dabbing my eyes after every sentence, I first told him about Light and Misa. Figured I better get that part out of the way as soon as I could or I never would.

But dear God, why did I of all people have to be the one to tell L that his first two friends were out to get him? I wanted to be a journalist but I sure didn't get a bang from breaking bad news.

But someone has to say it. 

"I—I heard them outside." I sniffed. "They were talking about you, a-and not in a good way. Misa, she…she said she couldn't remember Hideki Ryuga's real name anymore. And that she 'did the Eye Deal' with somebody called 'Ryuk' so she could try finding it out again. I couldn't see anyone else out there but those two but…oh God…I think this 'Ryuk' might be another sh-shinigami. Two notebooks, two shinigami. Dude, you were right. Jesus Christ, you were right about everything." I kept telling him how he was right about everything, only because it was too damn true.

"I'm sorry, Ryuzaki. I'm so sorry." Somebody had to apologize for Light and Misa's betrayal, even if it made no difference if I did it. They sure as hell wouldn't apologize. And I guess I felt I should apologize too for blowing him off, again even if it made no difference.

L didn't say a word. He must've been busy digesting everything I was telling him, so I took that as a cue to keep going.

"About the Eye Deal…I think it's got something to do with how long the guy who makes it gets to live. Not sure what exactly, but by the way L-Light mentioned it, it—it doesn't sound good."

Light. Only then and there did it dawn on me how much of a misnomer his name was. It made my tongue flinch just to say it. Why, I didn't even know whether or not to start calling him Kira. Except Kira had become an even filthier name than that. I ran away from that word whenever I could.

L still wouldn't say anything. That bugged the hell out of me, to be honest. What was he thinking, the whole time? Did he even believe me? Because if he didn't…well, I think it'd suffice for me to say that we would all be screwed.

Come the spiniest part of the conversation, another sob hitched in my throat. "He told—he told Misa to 'continue judging criminals for him;' that's what he's calling it, I guess. He also said that he's got something planned, something for you, I'm sure…and that—and that he'd set everything up even before you jailed him. Aw dude, now that I'm thinking about it, that thing he did, asking to be detained...now it makes sense. It makes sense."

Light had wanted to "prove" he was "innocent," all right. Just not "innocent" in the sense I'd always thought. Hey, for all I knew Misa had managed to pull off the same stunt. Which meant that he and Misa had really been at this for a while, long before I ever showed up. They were both Kira, had been Kira all along...

Surprisingly I didn't get any noticeable reaction from him when I said that. But then, it wasn't really all that surprising. Hardly anything could grab a reaction from L, a human reaction anyway. I mean, he was the type that didn't flinch if you told him that his first friend was the very criminal he'd been tracking down and was currently out to get him.

In a way, his lack of a reaction kind of terrified me. Can't say why exactly but it did. It almost seemed like he'd already known all of this and was only holding out for someone who wasn't putting on an act to finally agree with him.

Like he'd expected those two to turn on him.

How could a guy seem so used to being alone…?

So then I told him about Rem and how she must've been the monster I saw in the Ginza District all those months ago, a fact that led to only one conclusion, no matter how painful: Misa had had the notebook on her when I'd met her, probably in her bag.

She had been—and apparently had now returned to be—the Second Kira.

"I-I don't get it, Ryuzaki," I whispered. "If Rem used to follow Misa…what was she doing with Higuchi?"

"The ownership of the notebook is transferable," L mumbled, his first words since this whole screwed-up conversation had started. "I suppose wherever the notebook goes, so goes the shinigami. Watari made that proposal as well."

Oh crap. I curled up as tightly as a retracting spring. "S-so…he already told you, huh?"

"Yes, he did."

"Aw Ryuzaki, I-I'm sorry," I stammered, hiding my face in the handkerchief so he wouldn't see how molten red it turned. If he even could've seen it in the dark. "I should've never asked Watari to keep quiet. I should've told you right away, I really should've. I'm so sorry! God, I'm such an idiot! I swear I was gonna tell you too, i-it's just...it's just that Misa's our friend—or was, is, was—damn it! I wasn't sure and I didn't want—"

"Don't apologize where it is unnecessary, Elin."

Well, that shut me up for a while. Did he just tell me not to feel sorry? If he had something to say, he almost never just said it. He had to word it in a way that normal people would never word it then leave you to figure out what the hell he meant.

L switched the subject back to the notebook. "It is transferred by the will of the one who owns it at the time, and afterwards that person loses all of their memory regarding the notebook. Until they come into contact with that notebook again…"

The way he trailed off like that, he was piecing something together. Maybe something about how Light had regained his own memories and all.

Did the notebook we got from Higuchi…? 

"Ryuzaki, wh-where's that one notebook? The one we have?"

"Under lock and key, at the moment."

"You don't think…oh Christ, you don't think Light is the owner of that stupid thing, do you?" Fear crawled through my body like worms. "Did that thing give him his memories back, do you think?" Had he somehow orchestrated the part about transferring the notebook to Higuchi in the first place, too, then? That would explain so, so many things, like why Rem had been so dodgy about discussing the notebook's ownership. It would certainly tie in to his goal to look innocent while in prison.

Made sense in hindsight, only the worst place to piece anything worthwhile together.

"It's possible. The shinigami wouldn't say who the current owner of the notebook was, if there was an owner, but that is a definite possibility."

"But Rem used to follow Misa around. Misa was using Rem's notebook. So how could it give Light back his memories? And how did Misa regain hers? W-well, no, we know how she got them: by finding a notebook she must've used before going amnesiac. But from where?"

"They might have found a way to exchange the notebooks so that Misa would be able to recover her memories by retrieving her notebook, and Light, so he could regain his. Somehow the shinigami Rem became attached to Light's notebook in the process, which might explain why you couldn't see her again until you touched the notebook we brought back..."

Pretty off-the-wall, and yet it sounded like the only thing that made a lick of sense. I shook my head, still trying to find some solid belief in all of this. "How did they pull that off?"

Only the soft rustle of sheets and clothing as the two of us shifted around kept the room from total silence. He was processing my question. Whether he would get an answer, never mind share it, was a whole different matter.

Not that I waited for too long, though. Something even worse hit me like a baseball to the face. "Ryuzaki? Do you think Rem would lie about how her own notebook worked? B-because of that one rule—"

"Mm, yes, the 13-day rule: 'The user must write a name in the notebook every thirteen days or else they will die.' If that weren't in place, then everything would make sense."

"But what if the rule is phony? What I don't get is if it is phony, why would Rem have it in there? You don't think she's covering for the two of them…do you?"

"That too is a possibility. However…"

I didn't like how he trailed off again. He was scheming again. If I had to pick a time when he could be most dangerous, it would have to be when he was scheming. He and Light could be eerily similar in that respect.

I was right to be afraid. What he said next almost had me pissing myself: "We can't be sure of the authenticity of that rule unless we've tested it."

"What are you, high? The evidence already points out that the rule is fake! The notebook doesn't need to be tested; it needs to be burned! Both of them! Burned to ashes and then the ashes flushed down the john! Three times if we have to. H-hey, you know what? I've got an idea: let's round 'em both up and have us a marshmallow roast. You ever had a toasted marshmallow? They're exquisite, especially when you pair it with chocolate and graham crackers."

Light and Misa had already sold their souls to it. Higuchi and so many others had died because of this thing, for Christ's sake. Need I say more?

As usual, L remained unperturbed. "I know, then it's called a s'more. And while that does sound fairly tempting, you seem to have forgotten the other rule: 'If the notebook is made unusable in any way, such as by burning it, all humans who have touched the notebook until then will die.'"

Boy, was I pulling out my hair now. "W-w-well, what if that rule's phony, too?" I snapped. "For all we know Rem could've put that one in there so we wouldn't think about destroying the dumb thing like it needs to be. I wouldn't be surprised if that were the case. If you can tear off a crummy corner of it, why can't you just destroy the whole thing?"

"Yes, but there is no evidence that that is the case." Off he went again, bursting my bubble. "In fact, none of the information you've relayed to me is particularly concrete. What you heard Light and Amane discuss outside can be dismissed as hearsay. And even with your photograph of Rem, you have no way of proving that Rem had been following Misa at any point in time. Also, tearing off a corner of a page, or even an entire page, wouldn't render the whole notebook completely unusable."

Please don't tell me you're saying what I think you're saying. 

Just like that, the waterworks sputtered back to life. God, was I a crybaby. "Wh-what're you saying?" I demanded through grinding teeth. "Y-y-you don't believe me? You don't believe a word I'm saying? Hearsay, my ass! Why the hell would I go and make up something like that?"

Even if I still didn't quite believe any of it myself, if I couldn't convince L, I couldn't convince anyone. I couldn't even convince him to go out trick-or-treating on Halloween, for Christ's sake. I was cursed, cursed to never be believed until it was too late for it to matter. Like Cassandra or something.

Although looking back on this now, I have to wonder if this is how L felt about Light and Misa. What could be worse than having a devil in plain view and only you can see it? Also I did mention bringing Misa along with us that night. Given what we found out later, maybe that's why he said no? God, how dumb could I be? I could've got him killed!

We're dead we're dead we're dead—

I heard him sigh all of a sudden. Or was it a grunt? "I never said that I didn't believe you. I do believe you. Even if it was in your character, there's nothing for you to gain by lying to me like this. And please don't worry anymore about Halloween. You didn't know and it didn't happen. I don't hold you to it. Moving on...rather, my concern lies in how we will relay this to the others since they're currently quite convinced by their apparent innocence."

I didn't know whether to feel relieved or hurt after hearing that. But like I said, L wasn't the most trusting guy in the world. It wasn't personal, or so I hoped.

I blew my nose into the handkerchief. "O-oh yeah? So what do we do now? They didn't say how they were gonna…you know." I could hardly bring myself to utter the words "kill you." "All I know is that they're gonna do it. Soon. And with a notebook, I'm sure. Either the one we have or…"

For the longest time, neither of us said a word. One meditated over the issue, while the other dreaded.

Then…

"Did either Light or Misa see you outside?"

Oh, double crap! I hadn't thought much about that since I'd gotten back upstairs. Now my bladder felt ready for a meltdown. I had to twist my legs together just to hold it in.

"I-I don't know. I don't—I don't think so. I don't want to think so. Oh man, I'm dog meat now, aren't I?"

How could I think like that? Light and Misa, they wouldn't honestly consider killing us, would they? Not after all we've been through...

"Not likely. If Misa has the 'Eyes,' she would be able to see your real name by seeing your face. Had they noticed you, or had Misa at least had the chance to see your face, she would've surely killed you with her notebook as soon as she returned home. Or Light would've given her the order to kill you immediately. Either way you would probably be dead by now or else you wouldn't be able to tell me what they were planning. There'd be no point in killing you after the fact."

Was that supposed to help me feel better? Because it didn't, not much.

That's when out of the blue—or black as it were—I felt a spidery hand brush against my arm. Taken by complete surprise I couldn't help but flinch a little. But other than that there was nothing threatening about it, less so when the brush turned into a hesitant child-like pat. When he touched people it was sort of like petting animals for him.

Was he trying to comfort me?

"We'll figure something out," he murmured. "You've done the right thing. Leave the rest to me. One way or another, justice will be served yet." There was the J-word again. What did he mean by "justice?" What did either he or Light mean by "justice?"

"In the meantime, I believe it'd be best that you stayed out of the way and did not draw attention to yourself. For the time being you should stay indoors, preferably here in your room, and refrain from discussing this with anyone else. You can no longer afford to be reckless. If Light and Amane are Kira I don't think either of them would hesitate to kill you if they had reason to see you as a threat."

Once again, not helping, L.

He drew back his hand. "It would be…a problem, if anything were to happen to you."

...Huh?

Whoa. Just...whoa. Did he just say what I thought he said? That he worried about me?

But then, maybe the idea wasn't as incredible as it sounded. If I died—as if I'd be looking forward to that—how was a mad genius like him going to cover it up?

I started clearing my throat until it turned inside-out. I just really needed to clear my throat for some reason. "Uh…yeah. Yeah, it would. D'oh!"

Even if it's true that's not really something you want to say when someone implies that they're at least remotely concerned about your well-being. Not if you don't want to be a jerk. It was just that L had caught me off-guard when he'd started patting my arm and all. Not to say that I didn't appreciate it—every comforting touch counts in the darkest times. I just hadn't expected him to do that.

With L you couldn't expect, or not expect, anything.

I felt like touching him back but was too scared to right then, so I rolled over to lie on my back with my hands clasped over my chest. "I-I mean, I don't—I don't want anything to happen to you either, buddy," I told him. I meant it, too. Sohelpme I meant it. I wouldn't have broken my neck to tell him everything if I didn't care about him. Him and the others.

For the longest time, the two of us lay in a pregnant silence. Pregnant with what exactly, I couldn't say. It didn't feel pleasant though. I could feel it pinning me down by the chest, crushing the air out of me. Silence shared with L often felt something like that.

Eventually from his side of the mattress I heard a mild, "Thank you. You should drink something to rehydrate. One is susceptible to lose quite a bit of fluid through crying. You, especially."

I found it in me to snort at him. If he said something you could construe as even remotely nice he'd often follow it right up with a troll comment, almost as if he wanted to forget he had been nice in the first place. "Oh, don't even. Not now."

"I'm being serious. Besides you smiled and laughed just now, which makes me think you must have found my comment at least slightly humorous."

…

Needless to say, I couldn't look at or even think about Light or Misa the same way after that. Their faces had become like reflections in a broken mirror. Sometimes you can put the glass back together if the pieces are big enough and you've got enough glue and a high tolerance for cuts, but it sure as hell won't be the same. Any reflection in the glass becomes fragmented, distorted, grotesque, like one of those freaky Picasso™ paintings.

"Staying out of the way" was somewhat easy to do for awhile. Being the weenie I was I could hardly stand being on the same floor as Light—Kira—Light—Kira—

Shit, I didn't even know what his name was anymore.

For the next few days I pretty much stayed holed up in my room with the excuse of "feeling under the weather again." I couldn't go outside if I wanted to, my mind blown apart with knowing two of my friends were slaying a new criminal every minute if all the anchors were telling the truth.

It'd started raining a lot lately, too.

Huh. All my life all I'd wanted was to be heard, to be taken at least a mite seriously. It struck me kind of funny how that it had become the last thing I wanted right now. Not if I wanted to keep my head attached to my shoulders.

Strangely enough no one came up to ask me what was wrong, not even Matsuda. I wasn't sure what to make of that either. On the one hand, I felt relieved not to have everyone looming over me with questions I couldn't answer. On the other…it sort of felt like I'd been abandoned and I was abandoning them. It felt like a constant tug-of-war: I wanted them around, yet I didn't want them around, yet I did, yet I didn't. I don't know, I can't explain it much better than that.

I wondered if the others knew yet. If L had told them already, maybe that's why no one bothered me?

When I didn't wonder that, I wondered how Light planned to do it. Do L in, I mean, and possibly the rest of us too. With a notebook, for sure (death by a notebook: what a hot one!). But which one? The notebook we'd gotten from Higuchi was under lock and key, wasn't it? Misa didn't remember L's real name, so she couldn't do it, and she couldn't tell Light what it was so he could do it himself. Not to mention, I was pretty sure L would be careful not to let Misa see his face again, if he really was the genius he was supposed to be.

…

Huh. With all of that in mind, I had to wonder: where did that leave Rem in the scheme of things? I rolled over away from the window, straining my ears to block out the thunder rolling outside, covers over my head to shield me from the peals of lightning that lit up the sky like a neon sign. Rem must've put those two phony rules in her notebook to get the investigation off of Light and Misa's backs. But why?

Moreover, was she only around to provide an alibi? Or was she around for…another purpose?

I thought back to the "Eyes." Rem would probably have those "Eyes" because she was a shinigami, right? Otherwise, she wouldn't be able to share the ability to see names with people who carried her notebook.

Wouldn't that mean she could…see everybody's names?

I hugged the covers tighter over myself to ease the shudders rippling through me. That would mean she could see L's real name, wouldn't it? If she could see it, then maybe she would tell it to Light in secret and then—

No, wait. For whatever stupid reason, shinigami didn't tell the human who owned their notebook about their targets' real names, did they? Considering how helpful she'd been to Higuchi, and the existence of the Eye Deal—worst bargain in the history of bargains—that had to be the case. Shinigami made the guy they followed squirm for names by doing something to his lifespan so he could see them for himself.

In that case, what was the point in having a shinigami around if they didn't help at all? Because the shinigami would want its notebook back…

Right?

…

"Not trying to diss you or anything, Rem, but I would've thought shinigami would be a little more careful than that. Don't you like, need it or something?"

"Not necessarily."

…

Why wouldn't Rem want the notebook back right away? What, did she have a spare or something? Considering how clumsy she and her kind must've been, letting their damn notebooks drop wherever, they would need spares, wouldn't they?

Sounds like a zinger, doesn't it? I thought so too, until a sense of foreboding seeped into my skull the more I thought about it, making the back of my head throb.

If Rem had a spare notebook, would that mean…?

Nah! There's no way Rem would kill everybody on the force for Light. I mean, look at how helpful she'd been to old Higuchi; she could've killed Matsuda for him, but she didn't. And if she was going to kill for Light she would've done it already, wouldn't she?

Although…Higuchi probably didn't coerce her into helping him. Maybe if Light did, she would. But how the hell do you coerce a shinigami? There don't seem to be many things they'd want that humans can offer, and you can't physically hurt them—

A clap of thunder had me ducking my head under the pillow. Jesus, when was the weather going to let up? At this rate I wouldn't get an ounce of sleep this night, either.

Somewhere in all the commotion, I heard the door open. That alone let me know who was coming in, though I wasn't sure I could believe it. I wasn't sure what exactly to make of that. Except maybe:

And he still can't get it through his dorky head that it's proper etiquette to knock first.

I only had enough resolve to remove the pillow from over my head. "Ryuzaki?" I croaked out into the darkness, against the rush of rain drumming on the windowpane. "That you?" I didn't even bother to call him out on his lack of knocking. If he hadn't learned it by now, he never would. It was just another quirk of his I had more or less come to accept.

I heard him shut the door behind him, as quiet as a shadow. "It is."

"Well, what is it?" He never came up to my room in person without a reason. That's what I'd always thought, anyway. "What's up?"

He didn't answer me right away, naturally. He was one of those types that did whatever it was he wanted to do before answering a question. L answered me instead with the soft rustle of sheets on the other side of the bed as he started to worm his way in under them.

Even at the second time around I found myself scooting away until I teetered on the edge, preferring to face the wall rather than roll over to see him make himself comfortable. What's up with this kid? 

"Uh…R-Ryuzaki? What're you—"

I couldn't finish my question. My tongue kept pasting itself to the roof of my mouth.

His voice almost sounded like it was disembodied: "It seems that I've grown so used to having company when I sleep, I'm having trouble returning to my old sleeping habits."

He was talking about Light, wasn't he? How they must've used to burn the midnight oil together until one or both of them drifted off into Detective Dreamland and all. No matter what they'd been up to, at least they'd had each other…

So why was L here? With me?

Well he can't go back to Light, can he? Now that he's Kira again he'd probably gut him in his sleep given the chance. Not that it'd be easy to get away with, but it's the principle. 

"You had old sleeping habits?"

"The human body can't function without at least some time for sleep here and there."

Here and there? He said that like that was normal. That's crazy when a guy can't afford so much as a catnap every night for whatever reason. The way he mentioned the human body sounded kind of off too, like he'd had this idea for the longest time that he was supposed to make like a machine or something.

As I listened to the quiet rustle of sheets against clothes—seemed he even liked to sleep in the same old clothes—I suddenly remembered what L had said before. How my snoring—or the lack thereof—had woke him up.

"I would mind more if you left than if you stayed." 

…

Oh. Wow.

Maybe he's not that used to being alone after all, huh? But then, who would be? 

Or maybe his problem was more like he didn't like being alone. There's a difference. You can be incredibly used to something, up to the point where it becomes another part of the daily routine, but that doesn't mean you wouldn't go without it if you had the choice. Five o' clock traffic is a great example. Or school, or bills, or tabloids.

Or loneliness, I guess.

Wonder if that was what the "L" stood for? "Loneliness?"

That didn't really answer my question, though. Why the hell is he here with me? 

Did he trust me? Did he trust me enough to sleep in the same bed as me without having to worry about whether I would gut him?

It could've just been me but the darkness under the covers suddenly reeked of tension, fever, and from his side fresh cotton. Look, it wasn't that I didn't want him to trust me; I did. But something about the concept for all it was worth also kind of…unnerved me. This was L we were talking about, after all. He had a funny way of expressing himself.

Although my fear for the future could've contributed to the knots in my chest and gut, too. Right now I had too many worries to keep track of them all. The weather outside sure didn't help things.

"S-so what? You're planning to stay here? T—to sleep?" It was almost a miracle I was still capable of speech.

"Just for tonight. Don't people do these sorts of things on a regular basis? Sleepovers, they're called."

"Yeah but, well, normally you give someone a heads-up if you wanted to spend the night at their place. You don't just show up from out of the blue."

"Oh. I was under the impression that when two people have known each other long enough they can see each other whenever they want. Then again...my being here isn't a problem, is it?"

"No. No, it's—it's not a problem. In fact, would you like cookies and milk to go with that? M-maybe a bedtime story?"

His silence automatically made me feel lousy for saying that. He must've thought I was being sarcastic with him or something and I really wanted him to go away.

"I'm just horsing with you," I tittered. "Friends do that too: they horse with each other." I hadn't meant to make a crack like that, but L was making me nervous as hell. Before he'd only stayed for a couple of minutes so I could tell him about Light's plans. Now suddenly here he was proposing to stay the whole freaking night. A fairly great leap for him, if you asked me.

Then again, maybe it wasn't? How else could he have gotten along at night with Light with him all the time?

"Seriously, y-you can stay if you really have to. I mean since you're here. There's room for two."

Did he even realize how weird it was for a guy and a girl to sleep in the same bed? Me, I'd only shared a bed with two guys in my life up until that point: my dad and my brother Farley, and that was when I was little, mostly on stormy nights like this one. It's one thing if they're related or you know, together. But apart from that…

Well at any rate, I didn't think he knew. I doubted that he did, the poor knucklehead. If he didn't even know how weird it was for two guys to be handcuffed to each other 24/7 then he didn't know anything, did he? That alone had me feeling so sorry for him along with everything else. I probably could have told him that he could sleep on the couch or the floor or something but for some reason I didn't. I couldn't just turn him away. Besides Watari he didn't really have anywhere else to go, did he? Ever since I'd uncovered Light and Misa's dirty secret, L had pretty much become the only one left that I could still turn to.

Trust: what a weird, fragile, powerful thing. I mean it. Sometimes in crisis the ones you'd normally put your trust in suddenly become unreachable, while the ones you normally don't step forward, partly because you're kind of forced to put your trust into them such as in this case.

Before the case, before L, maybe I'd taken trust too much for granted.

Another roar of thunder rattled the walls, me along with them.

That's when L did something that just about knocked me out. As I was starting to curl into a tighter ball on my side, I heard more rustling on his. I didn't turn to see what he was doing, not that I really could, focusing instead on shutting my eyes and at least try to catch a couple of Z's. Kind of hard to do that though when it felt like L was staring at me the whole time. Guy wasn't easy around the eyes, if you know what I mean.

"Are you afraid of thunderstorms?"

"What, me? Scared of storms? Ah, they don't terrify me but I-I'm not crazy about them either."

"Why? We have a lightning rod installed."

"I don't know. 'Cause they're loud?"

"That's interesting. If you don't like loud things then you must scare yourself rather often."

"Aw shuddup and go to sleep, why don't you."

...

...

...

...

"Elin?"

"Yeah?"

"May I try something?"

"Uh...sure. What is it?"

That's when I felt something slowly pull me backwards. My eyes popped back open to stare out into the darkness as I felt a pair of arms slide in from either side of me to press me against a body. As my arms were loosely folded up against my chest, my elbows fit into the crooks of his as his hands cupped over my own like he wasn't sure where else to put them. L had lean hands, cool to the touch and relatively big compared to mine. It'd taken me until that moment to really notice that, how big they were.

My breath hitched in my throat as I felt myself almost turn to tire rubber. Forget Kira and the notebook; I dang near had a heart attack right there on the spot. I mean, last time we were like this it'd been dubiously consensual at best. But this time…I didn't quite know what to make of it. It didn't feel like he was trying to restrain me or anything. And if he was after more candy he'd be disappointed, since I had none on me. But…

I was never too sure how to act around him. Or think, or feel.

Maybe to a certain degree, the feeling was mutual?

"Am I doing this correctly?" he asked from out of the darkness.

"D—doing what correctly?"

"When faced with this kind of situation, this is what I'm supposed to do. So I've deduced. I don't usually do this sort of thing so I'm asking if I'm doing it correctly." You should've heard the way he said that, all soft and innocent like he really thought that. God, was he killing me. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I wound up making a noise that sounded like a little of both, though more of the latter than the former.

(Jeez, how many times had I cried since this whole thing started? Once every chapter? At least.)

His voice seemed to wilt a little. "Judging by your response, it doesn't seem to be working. I'll stop if you want."

Is he trying to comfort me again? What's gotten into him?

"N-no, no, that's not it. In fact this might actually be a good idea. Way I see it, this way we won't have to worry about stealing the covers from each other."

"Hm, are you cold? I can get more blankets."

"No, no. I'm good. Th-thanks for offering, though."

I let the downpour drum uninterrupted against the glass for a moment or two. "Y'know, I think you'd make a great character for a kids' show. You'd put—dare I say it—Elmo™ and Grover™ to shame. Then again, you're more like the Count™ or Oscar™." My voice kept shaking no matter how hard I tried to steady it.

L didn't say a word, keeping perfectly still instead. He probably didn't know what the hell I was talking about, or at least had no response to it. I didn't really know what I was talking about either. I mean, he could be cute, but not in a kids' show kind of way. More of in his own very remote alien way that wouldn't seem cute at first glance to most folks, not unless you'd known him for a long enough time and you'd gotten used to his...quirks, for lack of a better word.

Kind of like, I don't know, a mark. Not a dimple; I mean the kind you'd think you would want removed because it's unsightly or embarrassing, like a big hairy mole or a wart. But you wouldn't really want it gone because if you'd had it long enough, you'll reach a point where you can't quite see yourself without it. It looks too natural. It's still ugly, yeah, but natural. It figuratively and literally grows on you.

I never was that good with analogies. And trying to describe L was a near impossible feat to begin with, but there you have it.

For the most part I was horsing around again. It didn't do very much to improve things though. The knots in my gut and chest seemed to tighten.

I didn't want to ask but I had to. "It's been, what, two days or something? Criminals are still dying, aren't they?"

"They are." For such neutral words his breath was fairly warm, like mine or anyone else's. So far that seemed to be the warmest thing about him.

I listened to the rumble of thunder and rain for a while more, my fear of L slowly unraveling into a fear for him, him and the others, even for Light and Misa. Sure, they were both Kira and I would've thought that that would make me hate them. But at the same time—I don't know, I still loved them both as my friends. Once you start you can't just stop loving people on a dime no matter what they do to hurt you. I didn't think so then and I still don't. It's like trying to put toothpaste back in the tube (believe me, I've tried that). I can't really explain my feelings any better than that.

Was that even possible, to hate someone with the same strength as you loved them at the same time?

I wanted justice served but I didn't want either of them to die. It wouldn't bring back any of the lives they'd taken…

Is there no way to solve all of this cleanly? 

"Well Ryuzaki," I whispered, "what have you come up with?" I wanted to know why the hell he hadn't seemed to take any action yet if Misa was still out killing people. "I thought you would have gotten it from her by now."

"We searched her apartment and found no trace of the notebook. Misa must have it hidden elsewhere in a secret place outside her home. She'll have to come back for it at some point so we'll keep following her until she leads us to it."

"Ugh, of course she does," I groaned. "Have you figured out yet how Light is planning to—ngh. 'Cause I got nothing." I couldn't bring myself to say it. I clammed up just from thinking about it.

I expected him to say something along the lines of "That's unsurprising." But L didn't answer for a while, a long while by my clock. The most of an immediate response I got from him was how he tensed up around me as he pressed me closer to him, close enough so I could practically feel his chest rising and falling with every deep, steady breath he took. The only indication I had that he breathed at all.

I could feel a distant thumping against my back from where his heart would be. So he had something ticking in there after all, and it felt just like anyone else's ticker.

It was a wonder how my fever hadn't set us both on fire.

What's wrong with him? Well okay, I can understand how finding out that your first friend is trying to kill you can mess a guy up but—

For some reason I didn't ask, mostly because I was still holding out for an answer to my previous question.

And eventually he gave me one: "It's like I said before. We've got it all figured out."

I couldn't say I was satisfied with that answer. I didn't like how he said that. Something was off with the way he said that, like he was…resigning or something. "I know I've said it before but I just don't want any more people to die, Ryuzaki. I don't. No one." Fresh tears singed the corners of my eyes.

Just then, I felt his hands fold over mine even tighter than before, his fingers prodding into mine. Out of pure instinct, I loosened enough to let his fingers slip in the spaces between my own—forgetting all about how they'd all must've been in his mouth at least once that day—like a scared little kid cowering from a storm in the middle of the night.

That made two of us. And the weather outside wasn't the only storm we took shelter from.

"I assure you: Kira will write no more names in the notebook," said L softly. "Now, go to sleep. You need it."

It felt funny holding his hands, since they were bigger and thinner than mine. But as soon as our fingers interlocked I started to relax, though not yet to the point where I could fall asleep. Instead I closed my eyes and breathed in that fresh cotton scent. The warmer he became, the deeper my breath, until it was almost as deep as his. The rain continued to drum outside, though not as hard as before. The thunder simmered down into low rumbling, almost gentle.

The eye of the hurricane.

"Huh. Maybe, but you need it ten times more than I do. You look in a mirror lately? You look like the walking...uh, well, you know. G'night, Ryuzaki."

"Good-night, Elin."

…

"Thank you."

He didn't specify what he was thanking me for nor did I ask. For letting him stay, maybe?

"Y-yeah. You, too. Thanks."

...

"I am beginning to lose sensation in my left arm."

"Yeah? You can crouch in a chair all day without any discomfort but if you put your arms around someone then you—oh, forget it. Hang on."

I let go of his left hand and squirmed upward to let him pull his arm out from under me, but he kept his right arm around me and our fingers stayed laced together on that side. I felt him wiggle his free arm against my back before he curled it between us with his palm against my back. I felt it linger there for a bit until he slid his hand beneath my pillow.

"Thank you."

"Uh-huh."

I didn't know what else to say. Storms are more tolerable when you've got company. Never mind what kind of company, I guess.

…

After that I started to have second thoughts about "staying out of the way" like L had told me to do. What was he up to? I wanted to trust him, I had to trust him, but for some reason he wouldn't tell me much of anything about the plan, only that he had one. Not a very trustworthy thing to do. Was he keeping something from me? I didn't want to think so but...

If he was hiding something, what was it? And why?

Jesus, what would I do if something happened to him? To anyone on the task force? To Light and Misa?

Misa…she was the one killing criminals for Light, at the moment. How could she? How could they both stand to write down names knowing that the people with those names would die? That didn't make her any better than the guy who'd killed her parents. So why would she do it? Just because Light told her to?

Misa was like the Harley Quinn™ to Light's Joker™. I'd often thought she catered a little too much to Light's whims for her own good or happiness before this all came out, but to think she would literally kill hundreds of people she didn't even know and give up most of her own life, just to please him…

And Light. Oh Light, you tricky bastard. Never mind how you manipulated your father and friends. How could you take advantage of a girl like that? Not only was that wronger than wrong but it was stupid. Especially for you. Didn't you know that making her kill as soon as she left would make her look suspicious?

…

What if he did know? What if…that was the whole point, to make Misa look suspicious? But why? What could he possibly gain from doing that?

Let's see. Misa starts killing criminals again, the task force suspects Misa, they doubt the thirteen-day rule, they'd probably want to test it, they'd definitely want to bring Misa back in—

Something stank. If they brought Misa in again, wouldn't she get to see L's face therefore his name? No, L would be too smart to show his mug to Misa again.

Right?

What if Misa's only purpose in this was to be a lure? A lure into what? Oh, fuck Light and his impossibly elaborate schemes! Little wonder why he and L had worked so well together as a team.

My thoughts suddenly drifted back to Rem, who I'd been thinking about before L had showed up. What was her role in everything? If she in fact had a spare notebook that she could use to kill us off at any time, why hadn't she done it yet? Would she kill for Light? She wouldn't do it for Higuchi. No, it seemed that the only way you could get a shinigami to kill for you was if you forced it to.

But how do you force a being you can't even touch to do your bidding? 

Hmm. Rem used to be Misa's shinigami, right?

…

Oh my God.

Maybe Rem wouldn't do it for Light after all?

Would she do it for Misa? 

…

For some reason, she looked kind of weirded out. Oh, she'd always looked weirded out, don't get me wrong. And yet…there was just something more off about the way she stared off into space. Her yellow slit for an eye seemed to widen a little, her purple mouth gaping a mere inch or two more until I could see tiny fangs gleaming from what would otherwise be just a void on her face. Like we'd stunned her somehow.

Stranger still, I caught Light checking her out.

Huh. What was that strange smirk doing on his lips? I'd never seen him smirk like that before. There was a sort of…vaguely creepy, chilling energy about it.

"What're you smirking about?" I croaked. L snuck a glance at his fellow genius over his rounded shoulder.

As if my words had broken whatever spell was on him, Light turned to me and flashed me a calm, even smile, like he hadn't been smirking devilishly two seconds ago. "Oh, it's nothing. This case has certainly taken an unexpected turn, but I'm confident we'll be able to bring Kira to justice yet."

…

Rem had looked weirded out while they had been talking about executing the current Kira. Not that I blamed her; even I had to shudder as I recalled the conversation word-for-word. She used to be with Misa. What if she knew that Misa was behind the recent murders?

What if she worried about her?

Whoa. "Death God Gaga For Pretty Human Girl." The stuff of fairy tales and corny monster movies! Was that even possible? Too bad I only had guesswork to go by, like a damn conspiracy theorist. I could've been wrong about everything, for all I knew.

But what other explanation was there for why Rem had looked freaked out about the news of the new murders? Why else had she written fake rules in the notebook and covered for those two? Oh hell, if she was with Higuchi when Misa went out to bait him, she probably even had something to do with how Misa could trick him as easily as she did, probably by killing somebody and making it look like Misa did it or something.

Which would mean that she did have a spare notebook on her...

Which might also mean that somehow she and Misa got a hold of each other while they were over at Yotsuba. Probably got her to see her by touching her with...a piece of the notebook? I couldn't be sure of that, but if that were true, that could explain why Misa got all dodgy with me when I brought up the shinigami topic. Oh Hindsight, how I loathe you so.

But more importantly, shinigami wouldn't go through all that trouble for humans if they didn't care, would they?

Most of all, did Light know how Rem felt?

…

The revelation had me snapping up in bed like a triggered mouse trap.

He's setting her up. He's setting them all up. 

Light was making Misa look suspicious on purpose, so L and the others would be compelled to go after her again. If they busted her—

…would Rem use her notebook to kill us off in order to save her? Considering how Misa had done the Eye Deal at least twice now, and theoretically wouldn't have very long to live. Oh, Misa...

Holy Christ, that had to be the most diabolical, most dastardly, downright dirtiest plan I'd ever heard; just thinking about it had me seeing double, though that also could've been because I'd gotten up too fast. I felt so many things in that one moment alone I couldn't identify them all if I tried. I was only certain of one thing.

Right or wrong, I needed to slam the brakes on this crazy train before it derailed. The first step in doing this would be going to the only one I could go to.

The funny thing about trains: once they get rolling, you can't actually stop them. And even when you do, it's too late to prevent the wreck.

"Ryuzaki!" I yelped. When I got no reply I really started to panic. Rightfully so, because when I glanced over by my side I found the reason why he hadn't answered. He was gone. Like he'd never been there at all.

Typical L. Every time I didn't expect him or even want him around, there he was. But when I needed him the most like I did then, what did he do? Vamoose.

I tried so hard to keep a clear head, I really did, but it felt as though my brain had gone on autopilot as I fumbled around for the laptop. "Watari! Watari, where are you?" I was yelling for him even before his "W" had had the chance to blink on.

"Good morning, Miss Crocker. How can I help you?" Poor old man; he sounded totally oblivious to the evil at work from right under our noses.

"Watari, where's Ryuzaki? What's he doing right now?" I demanded in a shaky voice. "I gotta talk to him pronto!"

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I cannot disclose his current whereabouts." 

Already, I could feel something in me stretch to the breaking point, like a rubber band. "What the hell do you mean, you can't tell me where he is? You don't know or what? You're his goddamn right-hand man; can't you keep track of him?"

God, what a rotten way to speak to an old man, especially one as special as Watari was.

"Miss Crocker, please settle down. It's not that I don't know where he is; I am simply not at liberty to give you such informat—"

My fists pounded on either side of the laptop as I leaned in towards the screen, eyes frying like eggs. "Stop screwing with me, old man! This is an emergency! Tell me where he is, NOW!"

…

I threw in a feeble "Please?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Crocker. Whatever it is you need to tell Ryuzaki, you can tell me and I will give him the—" 

I didn't even give him the courtesy of letting him finish, having snapped the laptop shut with the decision to seek out L on my own if Watari would be no help.

…God, if I'd known that that would be the last time I'd ever speak to him again, I would've never done that. I would've never talked to him like that. I wouldn't. I just wouldn't…

But I didn't know that. I didn't know anything. The old adrenalin blurred everything around me as I scrambled for my hat, glasses and jacket, not even bothering to spare a minute to change out of my PJs into real clothes. I wasn't sure where to start looking, only to start looking. 

I'll admit, I was tempted to try luring him out by shaking a box of cookies around, like luring out a cat with some catnip. I didn't wind up doing that, though. For whatever reason Watari had said that he couldn't tell me where he was. Did that mean he wasn't with the others?

Then where else could he be? Guy was a freaking recluse. He hadn't seemed like the type to go take a leisurely stroll through the city, especially not in weather this crappy.

But believe it or not, that's where I ended up finding him: outside in the rain. Strictly out of luck. I was prepared to search high and low for him, starting with high; namely, the rooftop. I'd noticed him while I was scouting out the helicopter pad. I'd been on my way of looking elsewhere when I stole a glance of the ground below.

Somehow in the center of all those billowing sheets of rain I found his crazy ass standing out there, a fuzzy speck made distinguishable just by his question-mark shape.

I swear if Kira didn't get to me first with a heart attack, L definitely would.

Once I reached his level I propped myself up against a support beam to catch my breath, inhaling more rain than anything else like I was trapped at the bottom of the inside of an aquarium. The whole world outside looked that way, all its colors and shapes reduced to little more than smudges. Like being inside a fish tank looking out.

There he was in the middle of it all, out by the satellite dish with his hands buried in his pockets just standing there gazing up at the overcast skies in a kind of half-gape like he'd never seen rain before or something and was thoroughly enchanted by it. His hair and clothes had melted all over his outline and the downpour seemed to form a kind of fuzzy grey halo around him. He looked like a ghost out there. He kind of always looked ghostly, but there out in the rain he'd never looked more so.

"YO!"

I don't think he noticed me right away, all of his attention invested in the rain that beat on his pasty face. But when he did cock his head to peer in my direction—oh man, why was he looking at me like that? 

I hated the look he had on: gloomy, hollow, resigning, like he were miles away from it all and was just turning to look it over on the horizon. Sadness over things I couldn't see. A kind of soul-crushing sadness I'd never before seen on his face. Not this intensely.

I'll admit since I'd met him, there'd been countless times when I felt like I could hardly stand him. And he wasn't who you'd call Mr. Happy on any normal day to begin with. But if I had to name one time when I could stand him the very least, it'd have to be when he was sad. I couldn't stand seeing him sad. Not. One. Mite.

L didn't say a word to me. So swallowing the sticky lump already forming in my throat I took it upon myself to reach out first, most of the panic and anger from before defused for the time being just from looking at him. Cupping a hand over my mouth, I tipped my hat out of my face and shouted over the angry roar of the rain: "Hey! What'cha doing out there by yourself?"

L still didn't answer me, not with words anyway. He must've at least seen me because I could see him cup a rain-polished hand by his ear like a deaf guy.

So I shouted even louder than before: "I said, what'cha doing out there by yourself?"

His hand lowered for a second or two, giving me the impression that he'd heard me that time. Until it settled back around his ear as he leaned just a little further. Not once did he move from his spot out in the rain. It looked like I'd have to go out there to him.

I groaned. Brother, L could give me such a royal pain in the ass, especially in the worst times. He could give Mother Teresa a royal pain in the ass.

Tucking my hat over my head until the seams almost split, I took a deep breath before stepping out into the cold, bitter rain, hailing down like thousands and thousands of freezing needles into every pore of my skin, exposed or otherwise. Clutching the jacket tighter over myself, I squinted against the murky environment around me. It almost felt like trudging through the bottom of an aquarium, my pajamas weighing me down like a clunky diving suit.

"Hey, knock-knock! Anyone home? Earth to Ryuzaki!"

Once I reached him, he finally spoke to me. "You've only recently recovered from influenza. Unless you wish to catch it again, you shouldn't be out here." It was a wonder how I could hear him over the roar of the rain, what with his tired soft-spokenness that could qualify as a monotone.

At any rate, I made sure he heard me: "Oh, I've already had it so I won't get it again. Anyway if you were that worried about me getting sick you should've just got outta the rain when you saw me. Never mind that, what the hell're you doing out here in the first place? Looks like I was right about you wandering off when you're not on a leash."

Back when he and Light were still handcuffed together and we'd all go out, I'd tell the rubbernecks that the poor kid wasn't all there so we had to make sure he didn't scamper off and get lost. He'd never said anything about it, not to me. Even now he didn't address it.

Just like that his slouch became more pronounced as he buried his hands back in his pockets. His hair stuck and clung to his face and shape of his head like a battered fur hat or toupee.

Even in the rain his hair wouldn't stay completely flat.

"Oh, I'm not doing anything in particular," he answered, spaced out as can be. "It's just…"

His eyes drifted back up towards the unfriendly skies, gazing intently at something I couldn't see.

"I hear the bell."

And apparently listening to something I couldn't hear. How long had he been out here anyway? Had his brain sprung a leak somewhere?

"Uh…the bell?" I parroted, not knowing what else to say and for some reason kind of scared of where this conversation would go. It wasn't like L to hem and haw and for all of his obnoxiousness when he was himself, I didn't like it.

"Yes. The sound of the bell has been unusually loud today."

He said that like he heard this thing all the time.

I'm not sure why I bothered when I vaguely knew what good it would do, but I strained to listen to that stupid bell he was talking about. All I could hear was the rush of rain and my pulse drumming in my ears. Did that count?

"I…don't hear anything, Ryuzaki. I really don't. I'm sorry," I squeaked, my face flushing out in spite of the cold.

"Really? You can't hear it?" he said, like he actually expected me to hear it because it was so damn obvious. "It's been ringing nonstop all day. I find it very distracting."

Yeah. About as distracting as he was to me. That was my problem; I was too easily distracted. If that's not ADD I don't know what is. Not that I'm a doctor to begin with.

"I wonder if it's a church, maybe a wedding, or perhaps a…"

I didn't like how he trailed off. What was he going to say? "A funeral?" I started to lose feeling in my skin, and I don't think the rain had everything to do with that.

That's when I did something I probably shouldn't have. I laughed at him. I have one of those really loud dumb laughs that, if I were sitting behind me in a theater or something, would make me lean over and tell me to pipe down. Understand, I wasn't laughing because I thought it was funny. Oh no, far from it. He was making me nervous as all hell again, him and his talk about imaginary bells. I was cracked, boy, like the back end of a plumber. Though not nearly as cracked as L was. Or Light, or Misa.

He's horsing with me like he always does. There's no way he means anything by it…

Wiping a tear out of my eye—how did that get there?—I snorted, "Who in their right mind would wanna get hitched when it's pouring down like this? Boy, aren't you a riot without even trying! Y'know for a second there, it sounded like you were hinting at death or something. 'Send not to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee,'" I recited in a pseudo-foreboding voice. "Right, like in that poem by that one guy…I forget his name."

I reached over to touch his soggy shoulder. Whether he's screwing with me or not he's still not dying on me. No one is. I won't let him. He said that no more people would die, didn't he? He promised me that.

"Well, here's a little poetic rebuttal of my own," I said. "My friend—h-his name escapes me, too. At any rate, he once said..."

If I could just remember what everyone's stupid names were. It might've made me sound less of an ass.

What was scarier, L didn't bother to correct me about it like he normally would've.

"'Do not go gentle into that good night; rage, rage against the dying light!'"

"'Dying of the light,' Elin," L corrected quietly. He did it that time. "It's 'dying of the light.' If you're going to quote poetry—"

If there was even a ceiling over our heads, I would've hit it. "Christ, what don't you know? Aw wh-whatever! Look, in English fuck you and your bell. You've probably just got tinnitus from everyone yelling in your ear all day or something. Or this rain, take your pick. Now cut it out and get back inside bonehead, if you know what's good for ya!" My grip on his shoulder clenched to the point where I could feel him tensing along with it.

"Don't make me pull you back in by the ear. I'll do it if I hafta."

That look he gave me instantly made me sorry I'd cursed at him like that. It looked so vacant, more so than all of the parking lots in the world after midnight. "I'm sorry," he murmured, turning away and slouching over so much that it almost looked like he was shrinking. "Nothing I say makes any sense anyway. If I were you, I wouldn't believe any of it." Stone-cold sober.

Whoa. Was he actually admitting how cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs™ he was? That right there shot up another red flag. What happened to the guy who had to be right all the time?

Now L was staring at the ground, his bangs and face not only dripping with rainwater but clouded almost as much as the skies above us. Clouded with dark memories of a past none of us ever knew of, and vague dread for a future unknown to me at the time that was closer than I recognized. Maybe a touch of caffeine withdrawal too.

This wasn't normal. Not for him, anyway. L was like one of those guys from the Queen's Guard with the stiff upper lip and hair like one of their crazy hats. He had never worn remotely this much emotion on his face, not when he'd gotten mopey, not even when I'd first told him about Light. Why now?

I suddenly felt like giving him my hat, just to get his face out of the rain even if it was too late to keep it dry. So I did. I took it off, ignoring for the most part the veil of icy rain that now enveloped my head, and held it over his brow as I reached over with my other hand to try to brush some hair back out of his face. All he did was stare at me the whole time. "It's okay to blink, you know. Everyone does it. What are ya, a lizard?"

Once I'd slicked his knotty hair back as best I could around the curve of his face, I slapped my hat over his head all crooked. Maybe his head wasn't as big as it seemed after all? If I could fit my stupid hat over it...

Boy, you should've seen the look he had on when I did that. I might've thought he'd never seen a hat before in his life, or at least had never worn one. Or maybe the problem here was that no one—save for maybe Watari—had ever actually shown him that much kindness before, giving him their hat to wear out in the rain and all. How awful.

I shivered, and not just because of the weather.

"I mean, yeah. Yeah, you—you've got a point, there. Kinda. But…I don't know if you want to be that black-and-white about it. Not everything you say is nonsense. I mean, that last thing you said, that didn't sound like nonsense to me. Everything else before that? Sure. But not that last thing." Words of comfort had never been my strongest point.

And the thing about Light and Misa being Kira...that wasn't nonsense either, was it?

"When you're crazy, admitting that you are is the first step. But I don't think you should generalize about it, 'specially since you're one of the most un-generalizing guys I know. If everything you said was a hundred percent certified cow manure all the time, we'd be getting nowhere. And, ha, besides kid, you're a friend of mine. I kinda have to believe in at least something you say. Because that's what…friends do. They believe in each other. And stuff. Wouldn't be friends if they didn't."

They also don't kill people, or let other friends kill people. 

Like it'd do me any good, considering how we were out in the rain and all, I wiped my nose with my jacket sleeve. It'd started to burn all of a sudden. "And as your friend, I believe we oughta go back inside. Come on, what d'ya say?"

L peered up towards the dripping brim of my hat for a minute or more. I thought maybe he'd start complaining about how I was walking around with a hat on when he'd told me countless times not to do that. Maybe he thought I had lice or something?

Well whatever went through his head, I started to wonder if I should give him my jacket too? It didn't look like it would fit him though, what with his shoulders being broader than mine. And I was freezing my tail off waiting for him to reply.

But he'd been out here longer than me. Maybe I really should—

"I suppose you're right. Oh, don't worry. I don't need a jacket."

He reached up to take off my hat. Holding it pinched by the brim, he then placed it back on my head as carefully as possible.

"Let's go back inside. We're both drenched." Keen observation, Captain Obvious.

"Atta boy! Let's get outta these wet clothes and into...erm, something not wet."

"You mean dry?"

"Exact-a-mundo."

When I took his hand to lead him back inside (kind of strange all by itself that he'd let me do that), I almost jumped when I felt him lightly squeeze back. Around my thumb, I still remember. The weather had made him colder than he'd been the night before.

…

Once the two of us were safe inside, L got us a couple of fluffy white towels to dry ourselves off with. I was busy wringing out whatever I could—my hat, my pajama top—until I had myself a little puddle when he came back with them. His waterlogged sneakers sloshed with every step he took.

"Well, that was certainly an unpleasant outing."

"What didja expect, smartass?" I said, wringing out my hat one last time before checking to see if it was still wearable. "Standing out there in the god-forsaken rain. If it were raining lemon drops and gumdrops, that'd be one thing."

"You're right. Sorry."

Now normally that's not supposed to be a big deal when someone tells you that. But coming from old L, it was a hugene deal. He hardly if ever apologized for anything, much less tell me I was right. Even over something as little as the weather, that freaked me out.

I turned to look him over. He had my towel held out to me pinched in his fingers, while he had his draped over his head, like a veil, his eyes blank and strangely cat-like. He looked like how a cat looked after getting hosed down or climbing out of a bath: a dripping, shivering bug-eyed mess. God, I thought he'd looked pathetic out in the rain. While he didn't look as bad as he had outside he still looked so pitiful standing in front of me with the towel over his head, peering out almost like a mourner. Over whom or what, I had no clue.

D'oh, stop with the sad eyes! I can't stand the sad eyes! 

The situation called so eagerly for a noogie I just had to give him one. So I did; locked one arm around his clammy neck while the heel of my hand dug into his scalp, the towel as the only barrier between the two. Figured he could use some help drying off. He was still soaked to the marrow, smelling like a wet dog.

I smelled like a wet dog, too. Everyone smells like a wet dog after coming out of the rain. Even cats smell like them.

While I was at it, I finally got the stones to ask him: "What'sa matter with you today, Ryuzaki? I wasn't sure before but now I wanna know straight up: are you okay? You're acting weird. I don't mean your usual trademark weird, either. Did you forget to take your joe this morning or what?"

Stop looking like you're helpless. You're L. You're not supposed to be helpless. Where would the rest of us be if you broke down now? 

He didn't answer me right away. He just stood there and let me give him his noogie. When I cut it out, L slipped the towel off of his head. He stared at me with mild intent for a moment, then he picked a dry corner of the towel and gently dabbed at the lenses of my glasses like he were wiping off windows.

I froze, having been once again caught off-guard.

"Your glasses," was all he said.

I let him wipe them but I wouldn't drop it. "My glasses are what's wrong? Come on ya fruitcake, I'm all for good old clowning around as much as the next guy, but this is serious. Now you gonna tell me what your malfunction is or not?"

Why won't he answer me, damn it! 

Wait. 

This isn't about the plan, is it? 

The reason why I'd gone out looking for him in the first place struck me like a lightning bolt—five consecutive times in two seconds. God, was I stupid!

"Ryuzaki, hey, I—"

The blare of a cell's ringtone punctured the air, cutting me off before I could say anything meaningful.

(Another wall-banger about L: he had issues with everybody having their cell phones on while they were at base, but he had one that he kept on all the time. Only he was allowed to have his phone on. Granted, it was mostly so he could keep in touch with Watari while he did the leg work, but still...)

Handing me my towel, L stepped back to fish the phone out of his pocket, holding it up to his ear by its listening end. He had his back turned to me and everything, like he didn't want me to hear.

"Yes?"

Well, guess what? I heard, anyway. I had quite the knack for hearing things I wasn't supposed to. I still do. It was my gift, practically. Or curse. I couldn't tell, sometimes.

"Ryuzaki, everything is going according to plan." That sounded like Watari. "The notebook is ready for transport. I in the meantime am on my way to fetch Miss Amane." 

…

What did he just say? 

"I understand. Thank you. I'm on my way."

Click. 

L slipped the phone back into his pocket, not once sparing a glance back at me. Well, that did it for me. No more "staying out of the way."

I practically jumped on him right when he was putting it away. "What was that all about?" Already my voice was cracking, almost as much as I was.

"That doesn't concern you. As I told you before, everything has been worked out."

"Well then I think it does concern me. What's going on, Ryuzaki? Watari wouldn't tell me anything and now you won't, either? What did he mean by 'the notebook is ready for transport?' And what's Misa got to do with it?"

L grunted.

My fists clenched around my towel almost as tightly as my jaw clenched. "Ryuzaki, I swear to God if you don't start talking, I'm gonna—I'm—I'll towel-snap you." What a way to threaten a guy—never mind the world's greatest detective—into talking, with one of the worst torture methods known to nerdkind. I didn't want to put him through that, honest I didn't. But right then I really was gearing up to do it. I had the soggy towel cocked and loaded, aiming for his poor skinny ass and everything.

Normally I wouldn't have gone that far in threatening him. But bit by bit I could feel my yellowness peel away like old chipped paint to a new color. It felt reddish. Very reddish, almost purplish, even. My cowardice was crumbling away to a new feeling I didn't really care to recognize.

As much as I'd love to say that what I was feeling was bravery, it felt too dangerous to be bravery. Brave people can still keep their head on their shoulders. My most honest guess on what I felt would have to be insanity. Pure panic.

I'm not sure if my threat did the trick but either way L started to talk, still not looking back at me. "I'm going to test the notebook."

He might as well have socked me in the jaw. First he almost looks like he's giving up, now he pulls this? "You're gonna have Misa test the notebook?" Smartest thing I'd said in the last couple of days, boy.

Pause. I didn't like that pause. This was the kind of pause that usually preceded the unveiling of a dirty clandestine plot. The kind that I had up until that point forgotten that L was capable of cooking up. Just because of how passive he'd been for those past few days.

I heard him take a deep breath. "No. I had Watari obtain the approval of the FBI to find us two criminals on death row to conduct the experiment. Criminal A will write Criminal B's name in the notebook, to confirm that it works. Then we'll wait thirteen days to see whether Criminal A dies from not writing in the notebook. If he doesn't die, he will be pardoned from execution, and we can rule the thirteen-day rule as false. The task force is preparing to depart for America as we speak."

How could he talk about two people like they were nothing beyond lab rats? That was only one thing wrong with the whole arrangement. I could think of at least five things wrong with it.

It didn't take me too long to ring in my opinion on it. "How the hell long were you out there in the rain? Is your brain waterlogged? NO! Y-you can't do that! You don't need to! You said you wouldn't do that, you said you weren't gonna test the notebook!"

"I never promised anything like that," L said, cool as all hell.

Now I was hopping around like a leprechaun with Tourette's. "You told me no more names would be written in the notebook!" Why won't he look at me? 

"I distinctly said that Kira would write no more names in the notebook. Besides I'm not the one who would be testing the notebook. The criminal we've selected will test it."

"And what's the difference, smartass?"

"To begin with, I'm not the one who will directly write in it."

To think that I was starting to trust him…I trusted him? 

Hell, I actually started to hate him as soon as I'd heard that. Why? Why was he doing this to me? It wasn't bad enough that Light and Misa were out throwing away lives; now he had to go jump on the bandwagon too? And somehow that was supposed to make everything right?

Misa…

What role did she play in this scheme of his?

"What about Misa?" I asked, my voice getting soft all of a sudden but none the less furious. The wet towel dangled limp in my fingers. "What're you…"

"When she saw my name for the first time with the Eyes, she most likely forgot it after only seeing it once and then being immediately incarcerated. That would explain why I haven't died yet."

Or maybe she hadn't killed him yet because they were friends, like she'd said they were? But how could that be it anymore? Maybe I didn't know her as well as I'd once thought, clearly I didn't, but I figured I'd lived by her long enough to know that Misa wouldn't let Light down on purpose, for any reason...and if anyone else got in her way, too bad, so sad.

"I'm bringing her back to headquarters so I can show her my face again. If Misa is the Second Kira she has the other notebook and for some reason, the thirteen-day rule doesn't affect her."

My mind reeled all the way across the globe. "Because it's phony, jackass, that's why it doesn't work on her! It doesn't work on anyone! We don't need to test the—"

He steamrolled right over me: "As soon as she sees me, she's going to try to write my name in that notebook. That's when we get her. And the notebook in the process. We'll have the proof, so she'll be forced to tell us who the first Kira is."

I rattled my head. "No. No-no-no-no-no, that's not happening. News flash, Ryuzaki: you and I both already know who the first Kira is, and second, there's no way the guys would agree to that! No way in hell!"

"But we don't have proof on the first Kira. And I know they wouldn't agree. That's why I'm sending them to America, in the meantime." Without breaking even one sweat.

…

Oh my God, no! Triple crap! Forgetting everything I'd said outside, I couldn't believe a word he was saying. I didn't want to believe it! Everything I was afraid he would do, he was about to do. No matter which way I looked at it the idiot had set himself—and everyone else—up for unadulterated disaster, so much so that I had to wonder if he'd secretly had some kind of death wish and had done it on purpose.

Between the four of us I no longer knew who was crazier. I'd like to say that L was, but...

As much as I know I had to, I even started to feel sorry for ratting out Light and Misa. Or at least for not checking how L would respond as much as I should have after ratting them out.

Having gotten sick of his not looking at me, I lunged in to seize him by the shoulder and force him around to look at me. "Ryuzaki," I hissed, fighting just to stay on my own feet because I suddenly felt faint with rage. "You listen to me and listen good."

"You mean listen well."

I was so mad I didn't once stop to realize I'd just told the world's greatest detective to listen up. I didn't even realize that I'd begun choking with tears. All I knew of was his blurred face, my hammering pulse and my words: "No! Shut up and listen, dammit! For once in your miserable life why don't you listen?"

"You know, for someone who complains about how torture is wrong you've been rather quick to threaten me with it this morning. Outside you said you'd pull me back inside by the ear and just a moment ago you threatened to snap a towel at me if I didn't talk. Can't you make up your mind about anything?" Did this guy like being a pain in the ass?

I must've turned as red in the face as a boiled lobster. Maybe he had a point in there somewhere but I wasn't about to get distracted again, not now. "Auugh, look kid, you are not going through with this. You just can't. Call Watari back right now and call this whole thing off! I know you can! If you had at least a slice of a brain—"

L tensed up at my touch again. Or was he taken aback by that jab at his intelligence? Not that that made him any more yielding. "We have no choice. The answer is right in front of us. If everything works out, this entire case will be solved." I almost swore I could hear right then a rare and distant urgency in his voice, like the kind that had been there when Higuchi got the Eyes and killed that officer. But this time I couldn't understand why it was there. What answer? He already knew who the two Kiras were; what more could he want? What was I missing here?

I was clenching the towel so tightly that my fingers had turned almost as white as it was. "You dumb monkey, you're dog meat if you go through with this."

(…Did I just call L a dumb monkey?)

"This is exactly what Light wants you to do, don't you get it? Do I need to explain it to you with a song and dance? Maybe draw you a picture? He's been setting Misa up to look suspicious so you and the others would go after her, then BAM!" I slammed my knuckles into my other hand for emphasis. "Making Rem rub us all out with her notebook. Do not pass Go, do not collect 200 dollars! Okay, m-maybe I can't prove that Rem has a notebook of her own but I-I know she does, and she'll whack us all if she thinks it'll keep Misa safe! Come on, I'd expect you of all people to see something like that coming!"

Another pause. I was getting pretty sick of the pauses too. I was sick of it all, I really was. His bangs shrouded his face like a thief's hood.

Doesn't he believe me? He's FUCKED if he doesn't believe me. I'm fucked, we're all fucked! 

What he said next was like a gut punch.

"I am well-aware of that. I've always been."

Kssssh! Houston, we have a problem. We've lost contact.

"WHAT?" Jesus, everyone in the whole country of Japan must've heard me even with the storm bellowing outside. "Well then why are you—"

How the hell could he know that and still want to go through with it, that crazy punk? Just for that I wanted to towel-snap him to kingdom come but I didn't. Instead I found myself retreating, inside and out—I didn't expect to still have thoughts, the way I felt then.

He's lost it. If he hadn't already lost it a while ago, he has now. I—I can't reason with him, can I? 

At best I was vaguely aware of the fact that I'd started to back away from him.

He's not the one left with no choice. It's me with no choice. I trusted him. I trusted him…

I bolted. Tipping my hat over my eyes, I took off like a madwoman in the opposite direction, leaving him in the dust with both towels in a soggy pile on the floor. Though I hardly got that far when I heard him call, "Miss Crocker!"

I made the mistake of stopping to look back at him, right in the eyes. His gaze had become like looking down the barrels of two guns. "Where are you going?" he asked quietly.

I probably shouldn't have answered him, but he did tell me what he was up to. Besides he would've figured it out on his own anyway, if I hadn't. If he was so gung-ho on testing the one rule, why not go the whole nine yards and try the other one?

"To do something that you won't! I don't know how the hell you got the others on board with this but those notebooks are toast, even if I have to toast the motherfuckers myself!"

Burning the notebooks never made more sense to me than it did in that moment. I mean, that one rule that should've kept me from doing it had to be just as phony as the thirteen-day rule. But that wasn't really the point. The point was with the notebooks gone Kira would be gone, both of them. If things would work out the way I was holding out for if I destroyed the damn things we would get Light and Misa back. Rem wouldn't have to kill anyone.

Then again, the case would never really be closed, huh? In most courts that'd probably be considered obstructing justice.

But to be honest I didn't really care about that. It's not that I didn't care about the people they'd killed, but...this whole investigation was started to stop the killings, right? Now that we knew who the two Kiras were and how they did it, it could end with just the strike of a match.

And besides, not that I was thinking that much about it right then, but maybe Light for all his crazy had a point? Would he and Misa have been able to get a proper trial and sentence anyway? There was no way in hell we could keep these things around, let alone tell anyone about them. Those notebooks were nothing but trouble. But if we destroyed them afterwards, how could we keep those two in prison for life or put them on death row if they couldn't remember what they did that put them there in the first place? Even now after everything they've done, I still don't think I could stomach that idea.

In my mind, the result would still be the same. With the notebooks gone, no more people would have to die. No more. That was what mattered to me. I didn't even know how I was going to get the notebooks, only that I would get them.

Rem. Maybe if I could catch up to everyone I could talk to her, get her to help me get the notebooks. She was probably downstairs like always—

You know what they say about the best-laid plans of mice and men: there's always a wrench to gum them up.

I must've turned my head so fast, I practically gave myself whiplash. When I took off again, the first order of business was to find the elevator. Twice I almost slipped on the way up the stairs and snapped my crazy neck because I was still all wet and all, as the world around was reduced to little more than a sweat- and tear-induced fog and the hammer of my heart against my ribcage. And L's footsteps.

That's right. Not too long after I'd taken off again L followed suit, most likely to stop me. What a romantic notion, huh? Having a guy chase after you, I mean? That's the one time that I know of that I have had a guy chase me so far. Only the circumstances of the whole thing were a total departure from what I would've liked.

I hate to admit it, but right then it felt more like a chase sequence from out of a slasher flick. And we all know how those typically end.

He had a pretty squirrely way of running: he took these long, fast strides with his arms swinging at his sides, almost like he had no elbows, while he kept his head down towards the floor. He ran like some kind of clumsy android. Clumsy but driven and pretty damn quick regardless. Like a ragtag weaponless version of the Terminator™ but just as dangerous.

He caught up to me by the elevator doors while I was busy punching out the "down" button on the keyboard a hundred times.

ComeoncomeoncomeON open up goddamn it—

No sooner had the doors swished open, L tackled me. I was in the middle of tearing off my shoe to try beating him off with it; I don't think I even got it off my foot when he grabbed at me and threw me back. I was cursing and bawling my head off before I even knew he had me pinned up against the back wall inside the elevator. My heartbeat seemed to echo through the whole interior.

"What the hell're you doing? G-get your crummy hands off me, ya cr-crummy bastard!" He had my face pressed against the stupid wall.

L was breathing by my ear, hard, raspy, unsteady. I would've thought he'd never run even a mile before in his life. "I told you that you can't afford to be reckless. My brain needs sweets," he said between gasps.

"It's called exercise, you moron! You should do it more often!" Boy, was I going crazy with the name-calling. Since he'd had my arms twisted behind me, I tried to go crazy with the shin-kicking, too. Kicking, biting, head-butting, stomping on his feet, tossing him around with my weight. Anything. I was so desperate. It was like a fucking bullride in there, and I was the bull.

But I was fighting a losing battle. L had legs of steel. Every part of him seemed made of steel. Steel, wire, and ice. Right when I thought I'd almost shaken him off, he'd just force me back face-first into another wall every time. It wasn't fair. How could someone as scrawny and unhealthy-looking as him be this good at fighting?

If I was a bull, he was a blood-sucking flea that had crawled under my skin. I couldn't scratch him out.

"And just what fucking room do you have to call me reckless? WHAT ROOM?"

"I'm sorry. But I can't allow you to interfere."

Interfere? I'm trying to keep his sorry ass from making the biggest mistake of his life! What's he—

"This is not going to happen again."

Again?

I froze in mid-kick, my undoing.

Ukita...? 

"You leave me no choice."

He jumped on that moment of weakness and did something else that knocked me out but in an entirely different sense, bringing our twisted dance to a halt. Next thing I knew I felt this hand, the same hand I had been holding not too long ago, pinch the back of my neck. An awfully weird thing to do to somebody you've got pinned up against the wall. Unless…

"You've provided me with more than enough exercise for one day, thank you very much."

I think he was going for a pressure point or something. What a dirty trick! But by the time I realized that, it was too late. Darkness tinged the edges of my vision, creeping in towards the center to eat up the rest. I felt weightless. Helpless.

L, how could you? I trusted you.

"Y-you're making a mistake," I cried out, like that would do me any good in keeping me awake. "Pl-please, stop it. You're making…a mista…"

As I sank unwillingly into his arms the last two words I heard from him were, "I know."


	25. Traitor

"What is evil but good tortured by its own hunger and thirst?" 

-Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet, 1923

…

I don't know how long I was out of it. Not that it mattered, except for that it was too long. When I finally came to, I was alone, no longer in the elevator but on my bed in my room. I woke up to the sound of thunder rattling the windows, angrier and more relentless than I had ever heard thunder before in my life.

The back of my head throbbed almost as much as my eyes did, as I managed to get on my knees. I felt like I'd just rolled headfirst off of a merry-go-round.

Sweet Jesus of Nazareth…what happened, last night? 

I didn't dare move any more until the room quit spinning and settled back into focus. I found my hat and glasses placed neatly on the bedside table: the first thing that struck me as a little odd, since I couldn't remember ever taking off either. Once I re-accessorized and had shaken the wobbles out of my legs, I got up and stumbled for the door. For a while there, I couldn't even remember what'd happened before waking up.

Until I got my hand on the knob and started to jiggle it. It didn't budge a mite.

Mounting panic rattled me out of my stupor, the more I stood there fooling with the knob. "Hey," I called out feebly to no one in particular, mostly to fend off the sounds of rain and thunder and isolation that gnawed at my insides. "Who's the joker that locked me in here?"

The sucky thing about most of the rooms in headquarters was that the doors were designed so that they could be locked on the outside. But only on the outside. That way, L could go in and out wherever, whenever he felt like, and still lock you in if he felt like it. You couldn't keep him out, but he could sure as hell keep you in.

My hands ripped away from the knob and began knocking on the door, harder and faster with every second that passed without a response. To the practical rhythm of my own irregular heartbeat. "Hey! Okay, the joke's over. Whoever locked the door, unlock it, please."

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

"I'm se—I'm serious! Someone let me out!"

Knock! Knock! Knock! 

"Asshole! Whoever locked it, unlock it now!"

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! 

That's when a little voice—the only company I had—hissed to me, L locked you in here, dumbass. Don't you remember? He knocked you out, then he must've dumped you in here so you couldn't stop him from getting everyone killed. 

What? NO! 

My memory struck me with the force of a jet plane crashing down, almost knocking me clean off my feet. Now I was switching back and forth between pounding on the door and yanking on the knob, between barking and whimpering like a dog begging to go outside. "Ryuzaki, where are you? Where the hell are you? Get back here!"

But L was nowhere to be heard from, needless to say. No one was. I could've woken up too late, for all I knew. For all I knew, I was probably the only soul left in the whole goddamn building. The only soul still living, breathing, fighting.

"Come on! L-lemme out! Lemme outta here! Someone, lemme outta here! Ryuzaki! M—Mr. Yagami! M-M-Matsuda! ANYONE!"

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! 

"LEMME OUT, YOU STUPID BASTARDS! YOU'RE ALL MAKING A MISTAKE; PLEASE, LEMME OUT!" 

I cut it out. Banging on the door, I mean, having lost all the sensation in my swollen hands. Before I knew it, I'd collapsed on my knees, forehead pressed against the door as fat, angry tears rolled effortlessly down my cheeks, burning them raw. My jaw must've clenched so tightly, I was almost afraid it'd never loosen again. Suddenly, it felt as though I was caught in a vise, all the air squeezing out of me as my voice shrunk to little more than a cracked whisper.

"Please…someone…let me out…please…"

That's when I remembered the laptop on the table. Watari! 

I kind of started to get this sinking feeling that no one would be coming to my rescue, pulling me a little further under with every irretrievable second that ticked by. But I struggled back onto my feet and dove for the device anyhow, hoping strictly for the sake of hoping. Like fighting an undertow before drowning out at sea.

"Watari! Watari, pick up! Please pick up!" I was shouting for him before I even got around to logging on, like I always did.

But even when I did log on, Watari didn't reply, like he always did. Not sooner, not later, not ever. His little "W" didn't even blink on the screen. Just stark black. The drumming of rain against the windows substituted for Watari's warm, grandfatherly voice.

"W—Watari? Where are you, old man?" I demanded, leaning in as close to the dead screen as possible. "Pick up!"

…

I face-palmed. "Aw, Watari, not you, too! Pick up! Please!"

…

"Pick UP, goddamn it!" 

…

He's not picking up. He'snotpickingup, he'snotpickingup, he'snotpickingup—

"AAAAUUGH!" 

With a frustrated roar, I smacked the damn thing off the table, letting it tumble to the floor with a thud almost as noisy as the thunder rattling the walls. I know: a pretty dumb thing to do in a time like this, but…he wasn't picking up.

Why wasn't Watari answering? 

I thumped my face on the table and shielded it with my arms, crying even harder than I'd been fifteen seconds before—as though that were even possible.

I'm…I'm too late, aren't I? Rem got 'em. She sent them all to Gonersville. It's over—

Shut up! It's NOT over; don't you DARE say it is! If no one's gonna let you out…then get the hell out, yourself. 

My inner voice had never been more right…or I just had never been more delusional. I couldn't give up, yet. Who knew? Maybe they hadn't even left, yet! I still had a chance! I needed a chance! I deserved a chance! Just one...

…

Naturally, my first order of business would be to get the hell out of my room. And unfortunately, by the way things looked for me, I would have to break myself out. My knowledge of Hollywood-brand escapes—and its relevancy, for that matter—would be put to the test.

First, I thought about climbing out the stupid window, maybe sidle along the outside walls of the building, like in those spy movies. But that idea struck out, right away. I couldn't even bring myself to open the window. All I had to do was look outside, at the rain and lightning and how far below me the ground was…if there was even a ground. The storm kind of obscured everything from plain view. And bam! My stomach leapt up my throat.

Yeah. That's not gonna work. I was never known for a terrific sense of balance, under any circumstance. I wanted to stop the team from killing themselves, but I couldn't do that if I killed myself, in the process. I was crazy, but not that crazy.

…Now that I was thinking about it, no one was crazy enough to climb out a window to escape. The spies that did that in the movies? I bet they were really only six inches from the ground when they were doing it on the set, and the producers used fancy special effects to make it look like they were doing it at six thousand feet from the ground. It took me until that very moment to realize that. Movies: Jesus Christ, they can ruin you.

Next, I peered up towards the ceiling to see if there was an air vent I could maybe crawl into. No dice there; I did find a vent up on the ceiling, but it was way too small, a practical mouse-hole. A little kid could probably get through, like Misa, for instance, but not a chunky monkey like me. I'd probably get my head stuck in there, before anything else. How productive that would be. So that idea struck out, too. I didn't bother with that, either.

Then I looked at the damn door itself, the only barrier between me and the rest of the building. If I could somehow bypass it, I'd have it made. But how? I started to ransack my own room, in hopes of finding something that could help me out: maybe a pen or a bobby pin or a—

"Eureka!" I shouted to no one, the adrenaline rush making me woozy as I lifted up a nail file to the light like it was a precious treasure. In a way, it was, too. The place that I'd found it?

In the make-up bag Misa had given me. She'd wanted me to get into the habit of prettying myself whenever the opportunity arose, including my stupid nails.

Never had I felt more grateful before in my life to have a nail file, regardless. I was kissing it and everything, I was that ecstatic, tears welling up in my eyes. "Yes! Mwah! Thank you! Thank you, Misa!" I was so happy that I'd actually forgotten for a minute that Misa was the Second Kira and all. But she was still my friend, so what would it matter even if I had kept that in mind?

If I even had a mind left…

Suddenly, the lights flickered above me. What was that? Just a normal power surge brought about by the weather? Or something more sinister...?

Either way, I didn't take it as a good sign.

Get cracking, dumbass. The clock is ticking. 

Before long, I was staring down the door like a cowboy at high noon, the nail file grasped in my clammy, trembling fist like a trusty .45-caliber pistol. Wiping the sweat and tears out of my eyes, I struck first (naturally), collecting all the resolve I still had to get to work on prying the knob off the door. I'd even twist out the damn screws from the hinges, if I had to, my respect for people's property tossed by the wayside. The way I felt then, I was prepared to dismantle the whole goddamn door from top to bottom and back again.

…

About twenty-five minutes later—twenty-five minutes too long—I was storming down the hallway with the nail file raised over my head like a spear, sweating and panting and howling with the weather outside in a kind of awful duet while I kept calling out for the others.

"Ryuzaki! Watari! GUYS! Where the hell are you?" 

My voice echoed across every hallway I charged down, the only reply I got. The longer that went on, the louder I got, the faster I ran until I found it a blue-eyed miracle I didn't trip and slit my crazy throat with the file, along the way. I must've stumbled at least fifty times on the way down and I ran all the way, taking the stairs and all, having no trust or patience for a slow-ass elevator ride. I could hardly see straight, anymore, so juiced on my runner's high that it felt as though I was running on thin air, on fire from the waist down and neck up.

The farther down I traveled, the more I stopped to barge into rooms where I thought the gang could be. I was on my way to the monitor room when I came into this one empty room, the only noteworthy object inside being this pile of white sand or dust or something like that, scattered across the linoleum.

Wait, sand?

What the hell was sand doing in the middle of the floor? Did the guys go to the beach or something and dump out their shoes in here? Though, this didn't look like any beach sand I'd ever seen. Curiosity momentarily forcing my insanity into the backburner—ADD, I swear to God—I slunk over to check it out, dropping to my knees in both examination, and exhaustion.

What I found partly buried in the sand, however, flared me right back up. Dusting a little aside with a shaking hand, I thought I could see a pair of hoop earrings gleaming under the dim fluorescent lighting. I'd never seen earrings like those on any of the ears on the team, not even Misa's or Wedy's.

…

Hey. Didn't Rem wear earrings like these? 

I never saw actual ears on the shinigami, but I could remember how she had earrings dangling underneath all that tentacle-hair. Even shinigami liked to be a little fashionable, huh?

Hold on. Were…these Rem's, then? What were they—?

…

Holy shit. 

Somewhere else in the middle of all that sand and dust, I picked up some kind of black, brittle, charred material, rubbing it in my fingers. Funny, how it felt like the remains of a…

…burnt notebook.

Once I put two and two together, I almost had an aneurysm. My whole body jolted, and I toppled straight down on my ass, scooting away like I'd just touched something evil. And in a way, I had. The only good explanation as to what I was looking at would have to be that I was looking at Rem. 

Rem's remains. Rem's corpse.

Outside of the silver screen, I'd never seen a dead person before in my life, much less a dead shinigami. Even on the screen, I'd get kind of queasy about seeing anything related to death, no matter how glamorous they would try to make it look.

Now, here in real life…I didn't simply feel queasy. The whole system went numb. When I said that I didn't want any more people to die, goddamn it, I'd meant it. I just hadn't counted on the possibility of shinigami becoming casualties in this fucked-up PS head game of Light's and L's.

(What an awful thing to call the whole mess, but I don't know what else to call it, except a game.)

Somehow getting back the nerve to inch forward, I dropped back on my knees and shook my head, quivering with every quiet sob that crawled from my throat. "Rem, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I—I thought shinigami couldn't die, Rem. What h-happened? Wh-who did this to you?" I asked, like she could have answered me.

A power box on the wall hung open, one of its wires crudely severed, as though with a blade, or claw. No sparks flew from either end at this point, but maybe earlier...

I wondered if Rem had done that, before she...

It felt as though something heavy had been placed on my shoulders, the feeling that I could've somehow prevented this. How exactly, I wasn't sure, but that didn't keep me from feeling the way I did, like I could've stopped it.

If L hadn't knocked me out and all.

But what happened to Rem? What could've possibly happened that…killed her, for lack of a better term? You couldn't hurt a shinigami. Could you?

I had to wonder: did this have something to do with Light's stupid plan, too? I mean, naturally. Anything and everything that'd happened that day would all have to be Light's doing, somehow; guy thought too far ahead for his own good. He'd set old Rem up to wipe out the task force when they decided to go after Misa—

Rem's notebook was destroyed along with her, provided that the black stuff really did used to be her notebook. The one I'd warned L about, or at least tried to, that jackass.

Hold on.

Was Rem's fate connected to her saving Misa, in some way? Did…something happen to shinigami if they used their notebooks to save people? Maybe that would've been why Rem hadn't killed us all off right away? I bet Light had had that in mind, too, the—

…murderer. 

But…if shinigami turned to dust and sand by saving someone's life, then wouldn't finding her remains like I had mean…?

All of my organs dropped to the floor, while the world began to crumble and burn around me.

It's already happened. She got them. I'm too late. 

I'd have to give Rem a proper burial once this was all over, however, whenever, if ever that would be. But for that moment, I struggled to get my footing back so I could hightail it to the monitor room. In a way, I didn't want to go; I was scared near shitless of what—or who—I would find there. But where else did I have to go? I couldn't turn back now. Instinct had highjacked control of my mind, having beaten, sacked and stuffed reason in the trunk a long time ago.

No one was there when I made it to the monitor room. Nobody. Not even our two sad brainiac clowns. My eyes darted back and forth across the room in search for a sign of life, my breath bouncing across the vast, sterile space until it almost sounded like a big, formless monster was here with me, lurking in the shadows over my head in ambush.

I did find something, over by the wall with all the monitors. Some of them were on, actually, giving me—and whoever had been in here—a view of the hallway just outside.

Judging by the tea set sitting on the goddamn desk, L must've been here.

The cup was still full. Untouched.

Something's wrong something's wrong something's wrong wrong wrong—

That's when I got a closer look at the camera view of the hallway, and saw something that stopped the earth's rotation dead in its tracks. Somebody was laying face-down on the cold linoleum floor, by the elevator. Not moving, not breathing.

An old man in a suit.

He looked like Watari. 

No. 

No no no no NO—

The trek out there felt like twenty miles, like I were caught up in the middle of an awful slasher flick that I couldn't tune out of, no matter how tightly I squinted my eyes. That body outside…it had to be a prop. Just a prop. It had to be. The real Watari would come waltzing out of that elevator any minute, with or without Misa, but smiling, moving, breathing, living—

The nail file slipped from my grasp and clinked to the floor, forgotten.

Prop or otherwise, Watari's body up close was an image that branded itself to my memory, never to leave it, like an ugly burn. When I knelt over him, I…wasn't sure if I could touch him, should touch him. I was afraid to. But I did, in the end. After all, Watari would've done the same for me.

His arm felt like a dull, useless piece of meat in my hands as I felt it for some kind of pulse. I was no doctor like he was, but anyone, even a jerk like me could find a pulse on someone if they were looking for it.

There was none. Not even a flicker.

Watari's arm trembled in my hands—or my hands trembled around Watari's arm—as I placed it back in almost the same position as I'd found it, as gingerly as possible. When I reached over to feel his neck—goddamn it, I would find a pulse somewhere—I saw his face. I will never forget that face. Rigid and grey with the lack of life, Watari peered at me through dull wide eyes, his mouth hanging agape in a kind of eternal shock. As though forever wondering what the hell he did to deserve death by a fucking notebook.

Why, Rem? Why Watari, too? 

I took off my hat and clutched it to my chest, my cheeks now numb to the sting of tears trickling down them. Of all the things I should've told him that buzzed in my ears like raging hornets, one thing stung me in particular. Our last exchange. I didn't know that that would be our last exchange.

…

"Stop screwing with me, old man! This is an emergency! Tell me where he is, NOW! Please?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Crocker. Whatever it is you need to tell Ryuzaki, you can tell me, and I will give him the—" 

Click!

…

Closing my eyes, I guided my hand over his face to do him the favor of shutting them for him. I just couldn't bear seeing him wonder anymore, why he had to die. Oh, Watari. I never meant to treat you like that. But I did, anyway. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for all the times I called you "Grampa" and "old man." I'm sorry for how you were always so patient with me, and I didn't return the favor. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry…

But it didn't matter how many times I said it. Watari was gone. He couldn't hear me, no matter how much I wanted him to. He was gone. Nothing I could do would change that. He was gone. 

I wouldn't have been the least bit surprised if the whole goddamn hemisphere heard me scream.

…

Misa was nowhere to be found with Watari. She must've toddled off somewhere to meet with Light. Maybe give him her notebook, what with everyone else having been—I couldn't even say it. Well, it didn't help at all that I couldn't find anyone else, dead or alive. Not even L.

I told you this was gonna happen! I told you, I told you, Itoldyou, Itoldyou! Why? Why didn't you listen to me? 

A question that would never get an answer. Or maybe the question was, why had I ever expected that asshole to listen to me? He never listened to anybody, much less to me. If only he could see where his listening skills had gotten him and Watari…wherever the hell he was now.

Only one option left. I didn't want to do it, but someone had to.

I found the couple out in the lobby, by the entrance, like they were waiting in ambush for something, or someone. I had to prop myself up along the walls for support. Peering out from the safety of the corner, I saw Light stooped over a black book with a pen. He was scribbling something down. A name.

God, I would never get over how seemingly easy it was to kill someone for those two, in mind and method. I didn't know who they were, anymore.

Misa hovered over him, her face blanching in what looked like…horror? "Light? Why are…why are you writing your dad's name?"

He's doing WHAT?

Just hearing that almost gave me a heart attack.

"It's to help build the new world," Light replied with a calm conviction that shook me more than any of L's antics ever could. Like he wasn't in the middle of killing his own father, the man who probably taught him just about everything he knew about justice. For all that was worth.

I saw Misa's face start to crumble. No matter how devoted she was to him, I guess even she couldn't believe that he would stoop this low. How could this be the same guy who'd avenged her parents when he was about to kill his own father in cold blood? "B-but Light," she whimpered, "h-he's your father! Why?"

Yeah, Light. Why? Why for everything? 

"Oh, would you be quiet?" he snapped. "No matter how important they are, you have to be able to sacrifice them. Don't tell me you've forgotten that too. There's no turning back now, Misa."

As he went back to write more Misa's face sewed itself back together, her lips drawing into a small, stiffly obedient line. Like she were just…going to leave it at that. God forbid she defy her "god," for love or money.

Or was it because she'd done something similar a long time ago?

That made something in me that hadn't already snapped, snap. Enough was enough. Tearing myself off of the wall, I charged straight for the two of them, mostly for Light, howling out his name at the top of my lungs like a wasted college quarterback, not once thinking how this could very well be the last thing I'd ever do.

"Exchange-Student Reporter Tackles Kira!" What a way to greet a killer. Definitely not a stunt you'll find in any movie except a cheesy comedy (or biting satire). But that wasn't the point, not at all. Hell, I didn't really know I had him in a half-nelson, in a way, or even who was in that half-nelson: my friend Light, or that monster Kira. The longer I looked at them both, him and Misa, the more it felt as if they were each two distinct people occupying the same space as one. Like those crappy optical illusions of the worst kind.

All I knew of in that moment was how close he was so I could sob in his ear, "Where is he? Where's Ryuzaki, you sick sonofabitch? WHERE IS EVERYONE?" 

I couldn't see much of his face, since I was behind him and everything, but I could hear him choke ever-so-slightly, "Elin! What's gotten into you? What are you talking about?" That killed me, how he said that, like he was as innocent as innocent could be and honestly had no clue at all why I was on top of him, locking him in a half-nelson. He reached up to try to pry me off.

"Don't pull that pigeon shit with me, Yagami! You know goddamn well what I'm talking about! You killed him! You killed him, didn't you? You killed Watari, YOU KILLED ALL OF THEM!" 

I was losing my grip on him, partly because I felt sick, but mostly because Misa picked that moment to peel me off of him herself, shrieking, "Back off! Get your dirty hands off him!" And get me off she did, with unsettling ease. I had about four inches and at least fifty pounds on her, and she could still kick my ass.

Screw modeling. Misa should've been a pro wrestler or a club bouncer. No wonder Light didn't get me off himself. Why waste the effort when you've got a rabidly devoted girlfriend with boundless energy to do it for you?

Most of it is a blur to me. I remember mindless cursing—a lot of it from me, naturally—and crying—again, a lot of that from me. Scalp-clawing, hair-pulling, and a ton of shoving and smacking and tumbling around until my face had gone almost numb with endorphins and the world seemed to be spiraling out of control before my very eyes: the way it had since the day had begun, only more literal. I think I lost my glasses somewhere along the way, too.

In the end, Misa had me pinned underneath her by the wrists, straddling me around the waist as she batted my hat out of my face, almost playfully, and stared down at me through flashing, feral eyes. The pigtails on her head looked to me like horns.

What she said next turned every drop of blood in my veins to slush.

"E…rin…Blog…ger."

SHIT! How could I have forgotten about the stupid Eyes?

"Misa. No…"

Without a mite's hesitation, Misa tossed her head to holler at Light, "Her name's not Elin Crocker, Light! It's Erin Blogger! E-R-I-N-B-L-O-G-G-E-R!" She even spelled it, for Christ's sake. There could only be one reason for that.

They were going to write my name down. My two friends…killing me with a notebook. Brother, what a hot one! The hottest one I'd ever heard of since the whole case had started, maybe in my whole life.

Misa's crucifix necklace seemed to swing back and forth over me like a pendulum ax, her face blooming into a deep shade of red, almost as red as the blood she'd shed for all of these months with her boyfriend. All in the name of a better world?

My ears, my mind, started to buzz like the snow on a TV with no reception.

Why, Misa? Why, Light? I thought we were friends…

Why were they acting as though we were enemies? Like we'd never had any kind of bond…?

Was it because we really hadn't?

No. I can't let things end here. I CAN'T! 

I don't know how, but I somehow used my weight to roll Misa off of me, send her tumbling by a foot or two away to my right. Scrambling back onto my feet, I tipped my hat over my eyes and charged for Light, who had gotten back on his own feet and had the notebook perched in his hand again, writing more down.

With a kind of raw strength I didn't know I had, I punched him.

Countless times throughout my life, I'd felt like punching someone (who hasn't felt that way at least once?). But never before had I ever acted on the urge. Definitely not as seriously as I did, then. I didn't even realize I was doing it, for Christ's sake! Not until I heard the sound of bone colliding with bone, followed up by a sharp pain that shot up through my knuckles and into my chest.

I didn't smack him in the jaw. I sort of got him on the side of his crazy head, instead, just above his ear. I couldn't even hit him hard enough to knock him to the ground; just enough to get him to loosen his grip on the notebook so I could rip it out of his hands while he busied himself with the recoil.

I only had enough time before Misa jumped me to flip frantically through the pages of the evil notebook to squint at what Light had written down. Maybe it was because he was in a pinch, but his usually small, neat, within-the-lines penmanship had gotten bigger, shakier, erratic.

Erin Blogge—

Three or four lines above that:

Soichiro Yagami, Heart Attack. Brings back the Death Note, hands it to a—

The instant I read those words, my vision began to fail, and not just because I still hadn't retrieved my glasses. I put up as much of a struggle as I could but I guess it wasn't enough, since Misa forced me on my knees, pinning my arms behind my back with one hand while the other pressed down on the top of my head. Presenting me to Light as a human sacrifice in his honor.

Another sacrifice. Another senseless sacrifice.

"It's no use. Once someone's name has been written down…they'll die, no matter what," Misa said when she saw me trying to writhe towards the notebook, her voice thick with a sort of unreal malice. Forty seconds wouldn't have been enough time to steal back the notebook, never mind get to a bathroom and tear it to shreds.

So…that was it, then? I was going to die right here, in a strange lobby on a stormy day, in a foreign country thousands of miles away from my family, having accomplished nothing and surrounded by friends who'd done me in with a goddamn notebook. What a way to go!

I squirmed under Misa's tourniquet grip, bawling my eyes out like the wimp I was after all. Mom. Dad. Farley. L. Watari. Matsuda. Everyone. I…I didn't even get to tell you good-bye. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. 

As far as Misa would allow I thrust my head up, squinted at him and started to hiss through tears and gritted teeth: "Why, guys? What the hell, I—I thought we were friends!"

I didn't bother to call them out on their being Kira. By that point, I knew that they knew that I knew.

Misa had no comment for that. Having since picked it back up and dusted himself off, Light finished up the entries on his hand and closed the notebook with a kind of eerie judge-like resolve I'd never seen on him before, as one hand reached up to touch the spot on his head where I'd smacked him. "I'm sorry," he said softly, staring down at me with a detached look. "I swear I didn't want it to come to this."

"So why'd you do it, Light?" I thrashed back and forth, prompting Misa to hold on to me tighter. My chest hurt so much, but I had no way of knowing whether that was the onset of a heart attack. "I trusted you! We all trusted you! Your own father threw himself in jail for your sake, you bastard! Y-you and Misa manipulated a shinigami who cared about her into killing an old man and a guy who called you two his first friends! Why? What did Rem ever do to you? What did any of them do to you? What did L ever do to you?"

Fuck, now I was dropping the aliases. Though I wasn't sure how much that mattered by that point. Since L was…

Something was sucking the oxygen out of the room, the way helium leaks out of a balloon. How could any of this be real?

To my last question Misa hissed back, "You're joking, right? Oh, I don't know. What did he do? Besides the bondage and the torture and the lack of privacy and being an overall creep?" Her voice seemed to drip with a poison and vindictiveness you'd have never thought existed in her if you didn't know her. Was it there for Light's sake? Or was it something she'd kept bottled up for so long up until this point, like a liter of soda that'd been shaken too much for too long?

"O-okay, that came out wrong. But didja hafta kill him over it? You coulda just sued him in court for a couple million in damages."

"Yeah right. What would you know? Did you seriously believe we were friends? And I'm supposed to be the dumb one."

"But...but you said that we were. I heard you, you even danced around in a circle..."

Light's thin lips curled into a frown. Like he couldn't believe that a nobody like me would even dare to question him. Had he already left this world? I guess it wasn't good enough for him to stay in. "Defending a man who kidnapped you…how sad. I don't doubt he'd have disposed of you sooner if he didn't think you'd be useful to him if he kept you alive."

"Like what you just did to your dad and teammates? What you're doing to me?"

"Yes, well, banter aside, you have to understand, Erin, that I had to do it." He'd settled for using my real name now.

"Why?"

I kept asking why. I'm still asking why. But I wouldn't get an answer, not any answer that I would've liked. Every second, every heartbeat slipped by like sand pouring through my fingers never to return.

"Because…he was in the way. He was in the way of the formation of the new world. They were all in the way. I gave them many chances to yield, but they wouldn't heed my warnings." He paused to smile at me, like a black-clad preacher giving a Sunday sermon, but his smile wasn't nearly as serene as he might've meant it to be.

No. This had spiraled far beyond that. Light was the mighty god being preached about, standing before us in all his blinding bloodied glory. I was just a puny ant under his loafer that he'd found in him to notice just before squashing me.

"That's all we're trying to do, Erin. Please understand. All we want is a peaceful world where kind, just people live without fear or struggle. But in order to make that happen, we have to make sacrifices."

"Sacrifices?"

"Yes. We must eliminate the evil in the current world that stands in the way of our goal. Our world has no room for those who obstruct its creation. We can agree that most have a right to live and pursue happiness. But what about those who encroach on others' rights in their own pursuits? Harming, deceiving, killing...are these pests worth keeping around? We don't think so. No. We know so."

So…L was evil? That's what he was driving at? Because he was in the way? Did that make the task force evil? Did that make his father evil? Did that make me evil? And this world was so bad that he and Misa would just tear it all down and build a new one in its place? Jesus Christ, it killed me to listen to him talk like that, all gentle and patient on the surface but waiting the whole time for me to keel the hell over. I couldn't tell you.

"Do you understand now?" he asked me, like my opinion mattered at all. "I wish your tears could be out of joy, for the new world that's on the horizon. I'm sorry that you won't be here to enjoy it with us. Or my father, for that matter. It's a pity. For what it's worth, we really did consider you our friend, and I'm grateful for how you tried to stick up for us in your way...even if you were sorely misguided."

…

You know, it struck me as a bit funny that all of this time had passed already, and I still hadn't caught hide nor hair of Misa's shinigami, that "Ryuk" character. I'd touched the notebook—or Death Note, as Light called it, so wouldn't that mean I could see them by now? Maybe he was hiding or something?

Not that I dwelled too much on that. I had no time to, and Misa did have me pinned. Since he asked, I told him exactly what I thought, although reason was pretty much kaput by this point. What more did I have left to lose? Light had already killed everyone. I wouldn't get to see my family or friends again. Would they ever even know I was dead? They'd have to go on living in that "new world" Light was spieling about, whatever that could be.

Thrusting my head back up again as high as Misa would let me, my voice barely came out higher than a hiccupping snarl. "No, Light. I don't understand. Not one mite. You talk about creating some kind of peaceful utopia where everyone's happy and good and without fear and crap, but you use death and terror to make it happen? Maybe I'm just too stupid, but I don't see how that could work. And nothing you can say could ever make me see it. People are afraid of you, Light. They've quit doing crime because they're trying to save their asses. That's not a utopia. Th-that's the polar opposite of a utopia."

(I was never known for my eloquence, even with my arsenal of movie lines.)

"Don't you understand? Y-you've turned into the same monsters you say you're fighting. Both of you Misa, wh-what would your parents think if they saw you'd gone down the same road as their killer, offing someone else's mom or dad or brother or sister o-or kid? Th-those people have families, too!"

It's incredible, how easy it is to forget that even bad people have loved ones.

"For Christ's sake Light, you handed your notebook to someone you knew was gonna use it for no good just so you could have someone else take the rap for you! Then you wanna turn around and say you care about innocent people? God...how you can stand to even look your mirror in the eye every morning while you spray that smelly gunk in your hair?"

"Shut up!" barked Misa, her purple fingernails scraping across my scalp like claws as she gripped my hair in her fist and forced me all the way down until I practically had my face pressed against the cold floor, like she were trying to crush me for my blasphemy. I could almost hear my spine cracking, the farther I sank. "Don't you dare fucking compare me to that bastard! You're wrong! We're different. I swear, we're different! We kill for the greater good, not for our gross addictions. The ones we kill...they gave up the right to live the minute they chose to do evil. So maybe everyone is scared of us! But if that's what it takes, then let them be scared! Maybe they all deserve it!"

She spat, "And Light's hair smells wonderful. You just have no taste."

This couldn't be Misa. No way. The Misa I knew was not an angry girl; she wouldn't hurt me like this. She'd almost never cursed the whole time we'd known each other, unlike me. She'd scold me about cursing. Her profanity was like a long needle piercing one eardrum and exiting my head through the other.

"Misa, please! You must know on some level that what you're doing is wrong. We worked together to catch Kira. Y-you led the charge on Higuchi, remember? I heard you call Light out on writing his dad's name," I half-pleaded, half-snarled. "How d'you expla—"

"I said shut up!" 

Whack! 

I felt her dig her foot into my back, still throbbing from that kick. She was wearing those black leather boots with the spikes on the bottom, and I could almost feel them piercing tiny holes, like a falcon digging its talons into a rabbit's spine.

"Higuchi was a dog. He tarnished Kira's name and abused his powers for his own selfish gains. He had to be punished, just like all the other rotten people like him."

Misa, maybe you rationalized it as something else, and I was and still am no shrink by any means, but I think you did have something that compelled you to kill. As much as I hate to compare a person to a hard drug, yours was standing right in front of us. Or at least, he might've played enabler for you. Almost like you for him.

Speaking of unquenchable rage, boy, did Light hit the ceiling then! Well, not out loud. The way Light's smile contorted into a hateful scowl, I thought he was going to rip my head off with his bare hands or something. Like they were both going to tear me limb from sorry limb.

But he quickly regained his composure. After all I was already set to die. He held out his hand like he was offering me a blessing I didn't want. "Hn. That's too bad. But, if that's what you think, so be it. I guess there's nothing more to say...except farewell, Erin Blogger. Don't be afraid; for you, I grant an easy passing. May you rest in peace, despite you."

He nodded to Misa, who promptly took her foot off me. Sans the thunder rolling outside, the lobby, the whole world fell into a suffocating silence as the three of us waited for me to die, then presumably for Mr. Yagami to come in to hand over the other notebook and die next. Some were more eager about it than others, needless to say. I don't know how long we all stood there like that. For too long, that's for damn sure.

After maybe a minute, my sore eyes popped open. "H-hey. A...am I dead?" I asked lamely, not knowing what else to say or what being dead was supposed to be like. Wasn't my life supposed to flash before my eyes or something? "I wouldn't know." I liked suspense as much as the next guy, but…

Light glanced down at his watch. For some reason, I could see his composure begin to crumble again. Except this time, he was having a harder time getting it back. "What's going on?" he muttered. "It's been forty seconds. More than forty seconds. Why haven't you…?"

Light's eyes widened to a circumference I'd never seen them grow to before as they darted towards the notebook tucked under his arm, now in his fists, like he wanted to crush it.

"The notebook…"

What about the notebook? 

His knuckles quivered with a rage steadily boiling over. "It's fake."

His furious gaze shifted from the notebook to Misa. "You betrayed me!" he roared at her. Man, if looks could kill...he wouldn't even need the notebook.

I couldn't see her face from my place on the floor, but in spite of everything, it hurt to hear her reply, like Light had just slapped her hard across the face. "What? No! Th-that's not true! Why would Misa ever turn on you like that? Misa—I don't care what you are or what you do, Light. B-because I…I'll always love you. I always have." Her grip started to ease up on me as she tried to defend herself. By the sound of things, she seemed just as bowled over as he was.

What happened to "Misa would never think of betraying friends?" She'd never turn on Light, but she could throw the rest of us under the bus without batting a pretty eyelash? Lost and unable to piece together what the hell was going on, the inside of my skull roared like a subway station at rush hour.

"No. Misa never betrayed you, Light."

Th-that...it can't be…! 

I turned my head to face the direction I'd come in.

L?


	26. Justice

"When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me…When I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, factions, and debates of mankind." 

-Joseph Addison, Meditations in Westminster Abbey, 1672-1719

…

Son of a bitch, there he was standing by the door in that unceremonious way of his that only he could pull off, like he'd been standing there watching the whole time. One hand in his pocket, the other behind his back, his expression never unhappier. It was a wonder why he hadn't followed up with a "Boo!"

"I'm so sorry. Perhaps in another life we all could have been…real friends. Unfortunately, evil cannot be overlooked whether I know the people who commit the evil or not."

I couldn't remember ever seeing Light so wigged out before. His whole face seemed to swell like a puffer fish; I thought I could see the tendons in his neck tighten. He stared at L like he was looking at a phantom (in a way, I couldn't blame him. My sentiments, exactly).

"R—Ryuzaki," he whispered. "You're still…but…but how?"

Yeah, L. How the hell did you survive? But at that moment I didn't even bother to ask. Seeing Rem and Watari's dead bodies, on top of Light's and Misa's betrayal—I mean, everything leading up to that point—had worked me into little more than a blathering lump of blubber, like I'd just been tossed into a blender on the puree setting and then poured back out.

Damn it, where were my glasses? I had no way of knowing whether the kid standing in front of me was just a figment, a hallucination. God, please don't let him be just a hallucination!

Although…if he really was only that it was weird beyond weird how all three of us could be hallucinating the same thing at the same time. We'd have just all been that crazy, I guess. L had made us all crazy. The notebooks had made us crazy. Kira made us all crazy. Life made us all crazy.

The tears started to come back, with a vengeance. All the fever dreams in the world didn't hold a candle to how I felt, then. "Oh my God, you're alive! You're alive, Ryuzaki, you're ALIVE! I…I thought…I thought that I—where have you—"

A sob cut me off before I could say anything remotely intelligent. Honestly, I couldn't describe how I felt about seeing L up and about if I tried. I didn't know whether I wanted to tackle-hug him or smack him like I'd smacked Light, never mind whether I could move at all to do either. That bastard, putting me and everyone through all of that…

Who was the bigger bastard, though: him, or Light? I never figured that out. I still haven't.

"I must admit, you surprise me. I always had the inkling that you were childish, but it seems that you're willing to kill even a complete innocent for saying something you didn't like. This is something I'd expect of Misa, but not from you. It contradicts your mission statement considerably, don't you think? I'm disappointed. And after this display you've just put on I'm sure your father is, too."

"No. No, this can't be," sputtered Light. "You died. You died, I watched you die!" he snapped over a sharp clap of thunder. Even with my mind buzzing like hell, I could hear him crystal-clear; he was beyond pissed. It terrified me, to be honest, seeing him start to unravel the way he did. Was this guy really the Light we knew…or thought we knew?

I don't think Misa took this plot twist too well, either, because bit by bit, I could feel her hold on me deteriorate, enough for me to wiggle my toes in an attempt to get the circulation flowing in my legs which had fallen asleep under me a while before.

That's when the rest of them sprung out of the woodwork. By "them" of course, I mean the task force. All of them: Mogi, Aizawa, Matsuda, and Mr. Yagami. In a stampede of shoes beating on linoleum, they circled us with pistols—pistols, for Christ's sake!—thrust out in front of them.

Well, Mogi didn't have a gun out. He stomped up from behind to pry Misa off of me and force her arms behind her back, whereupon I heard the soft, decisive click of cuffs locking around her wrists.

"Light, no!" she cried vainly as Mogi tugged her away from the circle. "Mochi, what are you doing?" Even after everything she'd done to me, it killed me to hear her cry like that. Like she'd failed him somehow, and would never forgive herself for it. Misa, you should've never gotten involved in the first place. None of us should've ever had to go through what we did, in the first place.

You can bet the first thing I did as soon as Misa's weight lifted off of me was scramble the hell out of the way. Wasn't as easy as that might sound; the floor seemed to sway under my feet with every step I took, like walking inside a moon-walk tent. I practically crawled those first few steps, before finding whatever balance I could to stand never mind run.

L in the meantime reached down to pick up my glasses by the temple arm, holding them out to me pinched in his fingers when I managed to reach him. I couldn't even find the words to thank him for the gesture, having been rendered as wordless as he was, though not for the same reasons.

Guess what my crazy ass did instead?

I poked his shoulder. Poked him just to see if he was real, concrete, before anything else. He was. At least, he felt concrete. You should've seen the look L gave me when I did that: he reminded me of a snail when you touch its eyestalk. I almost expected his arm to retract into its socket but it didn't. My glasses remained outstretched for me to take, not a word exchanged between us.

Why wouldn't he speak to me? I couldn't tell by the look on his face—as if I ever could—but was he sore about me getting out of my room? Or…?

Nevertheless, I accepted my glasses with a shaky nod and shakier hands and as soon as I had them back on my face, I instantly started to wish I hadn't put them on.

Everyone's faces were stiff and mask-like, the way detectives were supposed to look as they closed in on the perp, but their eyes conveyed more horror and grief than I could ever hope to put down on paper, even Mogi's. Matsuda, his eyes were all puffy and red, like he'd been crying for quite a while and was far from finished. I could see his gun quivering in his hands with every labored breath he took, like he was fighting not to start going happy with the trigger. I had to wonder what hurt him more: that his chief's son had turned out to be the same killer they'd been hunting down all this time, or that his favorite pop idol was his accomplice. Not to say that he couldn't be hurt by both.

But Mr. Yagami…he looked the worst out of all of them, and rightfully so. He didn't have a gun, either. That would've been too much, especially for him. Under the lighting, his face seemed gaunter than it had even when he was in jail, his brown eyes dulled and narrowed. He had his lips pursed into an even thinner line than Light had his. He looked so…distant. But I knew better. He'd forced himself to keep a straight face.

"Light...you are under arrest for mass homicide," he said from his place across the room quiet and firm, like he was speaking to just another criminal in the corner not his own son. He'd forced himself to do that too. He was a policeman above everything else. Being a father was a second job. Justice had no partiality, not even to family.

Light's gaze was almost as unwavering as his father's, but by the way his Adam's apple bobbed up and down his throat I could tell he was at a true loss for words. He couldn't talk himself out of this one. I wasn't the only one that the world was crashing on top of.

"Dad," I heard him whisper, as though trying to remind Mr. Yagami who he was, in hopes that he'd have a change of heart and come to his defense, like he always had until now. I don't think there are many feelings in the world worse than the feeling of being cornered: stuck in a dead end with nowhere left to turn, when it starts to sink in that maybe you're not as invincible as you thought you were, that everyone you thought was your ally was now staring at you from the opposite side, and whoever was still with you couldn't help you out of this. For a guy like Light, I can only imagine how brutal this must've been.

His eyes widened like a deer's in front of a lethal pair of headlights as they glanced at everyone in the room before coming to rest on L. From there, they narrowed almost as quickly as they widened, like Light wanted to blast L's head off just by looking at him.

Boy, was I shaking like an epileptic bastard. Still caught between whether to hug him or hit him, I breathed, "R-Ryuzaki…what's going on? If…if that notebook is fake, th-then where's the—?"

L took his hand from behind his back to hold something up, pinching it by its spine like it were something dirty, which it was, in a way. What he had dangling in his fingers was another black notebook that looked just like the fake one. The resemblance was uncanny.

He faced Light, the entire time, not once stealing a glance towards me. "Right here," he deadpanned, as though Light had been the one to pop the question. "This is the real notebook, the one Misa dug up."

Just then, he opened it to a certain page, holding the book up by both top corners like a little kid showing off a finger-painting he'd made in his free time. Something in big, lopsided, line-defying chicken-scratch had been scribbled into one of the pages.

L…Law…liet? 

Huh? Who the hell was "L Lawliet?" Moreover, how was that even pronounced? I couldn't explain why exactly, but worms of fear crawled around in my stomach, eating it away from the inside-out when I saw that…that name. Was it even a name?

I yanked the damn notebook out of his hands, mildly surprised that he'd let me do that. As I inched in for a closer look, twisted my neck and squinted, I found these words:

L Lawliet. 

At 8:35 am on November 5th he experiences arrhythmia that momentarily stops his pulse, but he recovers within minutes and dies peacefully of heart failure 23 days later. 

A fat, sticky lump bumped up into my throat upon reading the word "date." No. No, he didn't. He did NOT write that down. Not in a REAL killer notebook. 

I almost couldn't find it in me to lift up my head, again, much less look L in the eyes. Suddenly, it felt as though I had an anvil over it or something. "H-hey. Who—who's 'L Law-lee-it?'" I was a moron, I swear to God, I was.

Well, wait, no. Looking back, I don't think my stupidity was genuine. Rather, I had this feeling, this spark of intuition, my journalist senses, that clued me in on who L Lawliet really was—in a screwy way, it was kind of obvious then—as soon as that name burned itself into my retinas. But I didn't want to believe it. I was using ignorance as a last defense against the truth.

Basically, I was in denial. Almost the same kind of denial I'd been in about Misa and Light, about Watari.

But L wouldn't stand for that, no sir. He pricked my bubble almost as soon as I'd blown it, as he calmly took back the notebook from my slackened hands. "'L Low-light,'" he corrected, without batting a lash, still without looking at me. "This…is my real name. The one you've been looking for, all this time, Light."

Christ, the look Light had on as soon as he saw the name, the way his jaw locked and everything, killed me. His eyes smoldered the way they would when the mind behind them realized that they'd just encountered a sick, sick twist of irony. I knew that look all too well.

I in the meantime felt mine reel all the way across the globe, twice, as soon as reality had seeped in.

I and everyone in that room were now probably the only ones in the triple-W who knew the world's greatest detective's real full name. Who would've thought that his alias could turn out to be his real name, too? That was so stupid, it was…it was crazy-clever. 

Not that that really mattered, though. The point was, L Lawliet's name had been written in the notebook. By his own hand.

L was L Lawliet. Which meant—

L, if you'd ever in your life reached your all-time low, this was it.

My voice had cracked so much, I could barely carry it above a whisper. "So…you're gonna…" I couldn't say it. My breath hitched just from thinking about it.

The next thing I knew, I had him by the shoulders, forcing him to look at me as the humidity of sweat and tears fogged up the lenses of my glasses, obscuring his face from my view. "You idiot! Why did you do that?" I howled over the echo of the storm, both outside and within. "Wh-when did you write this? Erase it! Erase it right now!" I glanced into each and every pained face in the room as though I could find a solution in any of them. I'd forgotten all about what Misa had said before about names entered in the notebook.

"I wouldn't waste the effort. Erasing this will not change anything."

"What, did you write this in pen, or something? All right, wh-who's got white-out? White-out? Come on! Somebody!"

Not you too! Please, PLEASE don't do this to me! 

L's crow-feather bangs shrouded his face, further obscuring it from me. The tighter I squeezed his shoulder, the more he tensed up. He didn't like being handled all roughly and whatnot. Not that that stopped me.

He closed the notebook in one hand, while the other reached over to peel me off of him. "No. You would only be wasting your time. One cannot change what's been written in a Death Note." As he turned back to Light and left me with my arms hanging limp at the sides, he said, cool as hell, "So I wrote in it first to lock in my own death. And now I have twenty-one days left to live…which means I can no longer be killed with the Death Note."

How could he? How could he talk about his own death like he might have talked about the weather? How could he not care?

How was it possible for anyone to be so selfish? 

Not saying that Light was a saint here, though. He wasn't. He didn't even comment on L's death like I thought he would, like he should've. Instead he demanded, "When did you switch them?" He must've been asking about the notebooks. His voice became more and more strained with every word he said. He looked ready for a downright meltdown, provided he hadn't already had one or wasn't in the throes of one right as he spoke.

Misa had nothing to say about L's impending death, either. With Mogi holding her back, she lunged forward in defense. "All the criminals that I wrote in there really did die!"

Who were these guys? All of a sudden, it seemed as though we'd never shared any feelings between us even remotely resembling friendship. Like our relationship as a team had been sapped to little more than the Sherlock closing in on the two hardened criminal masterminds—or was it the villainous mastermind moving in on the two vicious anti-heroic vigilantes he finally had in checkmate?—leaving me and the rest of us on the sidelines as helpless spectators to it all. Pawns forced to look at the results of what we'd been used for.

The world became more and more unglued with every word L said, like a crappy old third-grade diorama. I could almost see the walls peeling as L meandered closer to the circle. "Only for the first three days," he said, all lackadaisical and whatnot. "When we finally confirmed that you, Misa, are the Second Kira, and that the Thirteen-Day rule was false, Wedy infiltrated your apartment to collect photos of the notebook's contents.

"It was a risky action on her part, due to the possibility of the shinigami who was attached to the notebook having enough loyalty to Misa to guard the notebook and warn her that she was being caught onto. After all, the shinigami attached to the notebook we took from Higuchi was willing to lie for you both...even going so far as to kill me in order to protect you," he muttered darkly.

"When Wedy touched the notebook, she didn't see the shinigami anywhere in your apartment. Our surveillance later revealed it to follow you wherever she went. That led us to suspect that the shinigami follow the owner of their notebook around, and not so much the notebook itself.

"Which would explain why you would refuse to leave headquarters and insist on continuing work with us, Light. If you indeed had obtained ownership of Higuchi's notebook, it would've meant that the shinigami would be compelled to follow you wherever you went.

"Using the evidence Wedy gathered, Watari then created a counterfeit and had them switched from the fourth day on. We watched you very carefully through the bugs and cameras Wedy placed throughout your apartment, and had the deaths covered on the news channels as if Kira had indeed returned and resumed killing. You have Aiber to thank for that contribution."

(In hindsight, maybe the reason neither of his criminal buddies were here for this showdown was to keep their identities hidden, from Misa's Eyes and all? They were safe, as long as neither she nor Light knew their real names. I don't know. Whatever thing those three had was kept strictly between those three.)

...

What did he just say? 

But…but just the night before, I'd asked him about the killings myself, and he'd told me that they were—

…

He lied to me? 

Now, all right, maybe it wasn't supposed to be that much of a shocker. L was the king of the liars, with Light as their holy pope. That was like his specialty, besides detecting, of course. I don't think a day had gone by since I'd met him—or long before even that, for that matter—when he didn't lie about something, to someone, in some way, for some screwy reason of his. He'd pulled off an inversion of this stunt on Light, after all.

That didn't make it hurt any less, though. Actually, it made it worse, because I'd believed him. You don't lie to someone about something like that, about anything in general, not when you're hugging them and everything, in bed, of all places. You shouldn't, anyway.

But then, L never seemed to consider anything sacred, like the trust between two friends. What with his lack of friends, though, I don't know whether or not to really hold that against him.

Or was this why he was friendless, in the first place?

Next thing I knew, I'd seized his shoulder again, from behind him, this time. "Th-that's not what you told me. You...you lied?" I asked him, shaky as hell. "Why? I just defended you in front of Light a couple minutes ago, and you come out with this? Y-you lied to me! A—and I believed you." What a stupid thing to say at such a terrible time, but hey, wasn't it true?

Why are you doing this to me, you bastard? 

Between the four of us—him, Light, Misa and me—I couldn't tell anymore who was stupider, aside.

From out of the corner of my eye, I thought I could see Light pass me a stiff but almost sympathetic look in my direction, as though mutely telling me, This is exactly what I was talking about. 

Kind of ironic, since he'd spent all this time doing the exact same thing, leading us on.

L still wouldn't look at me. He just reached up to peel me off of him, again. "Yes, that was the intention," he answered in a low voice. That was all he had to say to that.

I drifted back into solid numbness as he continued: "The problem was, we still had no evidence proving that you were Kira. Bravo, Light. You never gave us an inch. And that's why I had to give up my own life. In order to carry out my plan, I needed Mr. Yagami's help. At first, he was against it, because he is a just man with a good heart. But then, when I showed him the notebook and how I had written my own name in it, he recognized my determination and decided to go along with my plan."

Really? That was all it took to get Mr. Yagami and the others on board with this? Did he lie to him, too, at any point?

"Or at least, what had been intended as the plan."

Why did I get this vague suspicion that that jab was directed at me?

"But I digress. You know what, Light? Up until the last second, he refused to believe you were Kira, despite all the proof. Instead of going to the heliport to America, your father and the task force actually stayed behind. They were here. And they saw everything."

Wait…so they really weren't going anywhere, after all? No tests on criminals? But he'd told me—

…

There was no way to explain this. There was nothing that could explain the complete mind-fuckery I had just stood through.

By the looks of Light and Misa's faces, I was far from the only one who felt this way.

Why would L lie about what he was up to? Look, it wasn't that I'd wanted that snake to go through with that goddamn test on the notebook. But did he have to lie to me about doing it, about everything? All for what? So he could write down his own name in the goddamn notebook and have things pan out, the way they did?

What was wrong with just burning the notebooks? 

The task force maintained their positions around Light and Misa, a brief but lethal calm cast over the whole lobby. I could hardly find enough feeling just to clench my fists. Light and Mr. Yagami stared each other down, while L stared down at his bare feet, like his head had become too heavy to hold up. His question-mark slouch seemed to grow more and more pronounced until he looked ready to snap in two, like a twig. That hollow, distant look I hated so much, the one he'd worn out in the rain, had returned, more intense than ever. Like a part of him had already died before his time.

I had to strain my ears to hear him mutter, as though to himself, "I do regret…Watari. I honestly didn't think that the shinigami would write his name down. The last mistake I'll ever make…"

A damn preventable mistake, if you'd just listened to me, I wanted to scream at him. But I didn't. Words had failed me, again. The tears didn't, though. The tears never failed, even when they no longer had a fixed reason to be there at all. I mean, I didn't even know what I was crying about anymore.

"Light," Mr. Yagami finally said, "you said that all you're trying to do…is create a new world here for us. But I'm sorry. I don't understand; this isn't justice at all!" He floored me, by the way his voice rose so sharply, the way it carried across the lobby. His eyes hardened a little more with every word he said. How much pain did this guy have to go through, only to end up taking down his own little boy…?

Made me think back to when he'd thrown himself in jail. Makes me wonder if he purposefully chose not to have a gun for reasons beyond the fact that civilians in Japan weren't technically supposed to have guns.

Light's, in the meantime, seemed to soften, as though pleading for his dad, and the rest of us, to hear him out. Out spewed that altruistic PS he'd tried to feed me not long ago: "Before I found the notebook…the world was rotten with criminals who laughed at the legal system," he said, his voice starting to crack as his hand reached over to fiddle with his watch.

Huh. Why would he fiddle with his watch while trying to justify what he did? Pretty strange thing to do, especially coming from him. He was losing it, though, I could tell, provided that he hadn't already a long time ago…

Misa gazed into his face with a kind of solemn agreement with his words, while his words pricked my heart like needles. "It was a world of hypocrisy. But I changed that. With Kira around, the crime rate dropped by seventy percent! And it can only get better from there: at this rate, countries won't have to war with each other. Isn't that…the world you wanted, Dad? A world of…peace and harmony?"

BLAOW! 

The crack of a pistol firing shattered the atmosphere, followed by the loud clink of the face of a watch against the linoleum in a tiny shower of glass. A gunshot: a noise that I never, ever wanted to hear again. Never mind who had fired it; I could hardly believe it myself, when I realized it.

While my chickenshit self reflexively shielded my face, Light peered up at Matsuda through wide, demanding eyes. I thought I could see his pistol smoking through my fingers, now trembling more violently than ever before as the tears trickled down Matsuda's lock-jawed face without restraint.

Time and space fell away, after that. Hands locked in one another, Light ran for it, something I never would've thought he'd do. Made a frantic beeline for the part of the watch that had landed on the floor some ten or so yards away.

BANG! 

Misa's scream beat against my already throbbing head: "Light, NO!" 

"MATSUDA!" I shouted, the only coherent thing I could say, for the moment. I was scared shitless; what if Matsuda lost control and fired again? I'd never seen him this way, and it scared me shitless. I couldn't tell you. Everyone, everything was falling apart right before my eyes.

And all I could do was watch it all. Like being inside the worst action flick in history but outside at the same time, like a viewer.

The second shot rang out even louder than the first in my ears as I saw Light collapse to the floor, a too-sizable spurt of blood—oh God, the blood—rushing out of his leg and splashing on the white tiles like punch from the cracked talking Kool-Aid™ pitcher that Light had pretty much become. A horrible way to put it, but that's exactly what it looked like. Nothing at all like how they showed it in the movies, because this. Was real. 

From the way Light writhed in agony on the floor, to the way Matsuda's knees almost buckled under him. He had to force himself to keep standing, as a detective. They all did.

"M-Matsuda, you idiot!" Light snarled. "Who the hell do you think you're shooting at? I would've thought that you of all people would've supported Kira's ideals!"

Turn it off turn it off turn this off—

Unflinching, L said, "That's a piece of the Death Note, isn't it? You had it hidden on you. That's how Higuchi was killed. That's it, then. This case is solved."

Translation: "Light Yagami, thy nuts hath been cracked."

I had to glance over to see what the hell L was talking about, and sure enough, I saw it. A tiny piece of notebook paper was strapped on to a part of the broken watch now on the floor, with writing on it. A name in smeared red.

A name written in blood.

Kyosuke Higuchi. 

This isn't happening this isn't happening this is NOT happening—

I had never seen Light look more broken than he did on the floor, face down with his hand and leg bleeding and all. He didn't look at all like the almighty god he wanted to paint himself as, and by the way Misa's face crumbled into pieces at her feet, she probably saw this, too.

I didn't see Kira on the floor. Well, I did, but somehow not as much as I saw Light.

It's funny, in a way, but in another it's not funny at all: in spite of everything he'd done—killing Rem and Watari, how he'd tried to kill me, and more—I felt my hand start to reach out to him, without actually moving from my place. No longer could I think, only feel, though I wasn't sure I could do even that. Any of us probably would've moved, if we hadn't been halted by this awful, guttural sound that started chugging out of his throat.

At first it sounded like crying, but the louder and sharper it got, I realized that it wasn't crying at all.

Light was laughing. Like all this was just the greatest zinger he'd ever heard and nothing else. God, did he have a horrible laugh; he sounded even worse than Higuchi. Every hair on every square inch of my skin prickled when I heard it.

With no assistance whatsoever, Light staggered back on his feet like a wounded animal, snickering, almost cackling, the whole way up. He stumbled a few times on his bad leg, dripping blood everywhere he stumbled, but in the end, he managed to take a wobbly battle stance to look L in the eyes, his hand clutching the other the entire time as he swayed back and forth, as if in a trance. His once neat, tidy hair was now in almost as much disarray as L's had always been, and his eyes—oh Jesus, his eyes, they looked so red and puffy, almost as though he'd been shot in the face.

I'll never forget the way he looked at all of us. From underneath his eyebrows, like some kind of ravenous beast, his breath ragged from his laughing fit. "That's right. I really am Kira," he hissed through clenched teeth, his face polished with sweat as his hair pasted to the frame of his head.

No, Light…

I wanted to speak out against it, but all I could do was open my mouth and leave it hanging, like a dumb trout. What could any of us say at that point, having just had our worst nightmare confirmed before our eyes?

Holding out his hands as though they were stained with blood that only he could see, he gasped, "And I am the god of this new world."

"No, you're not," said L, icy as hell. He held out the notebook like it was garbage. "You're just a pathetic murderer who yielded to his urges and confused himself with a god in trying to justify himself. And this notebook here, is the deadliest weapon on the whole planet."

While I listened to the two of them talk, no, more like condemn each other, that one fucking question came back screaming in my head: What's justice? Where's the justice in any of this? Why won't you help him?

Light spat out L's name like it were a poison he was trying to feed back to him: "L…you have no idea; you hardly ever leave your room. Reality is an innocent person dying because some evil bastard is on the loose, while you sit on your hands and look the other way. Rapists, abusers, thieves...worthless scum, who don't deserve the precious gift of life, who couldn't care less about it. That's the kind of reality in which the law is powerless. I understood in the beginning that it was wrong to kill people. But...this world...this world is rotting, L, with too many rotten people like you! This world can't be fixed any other way! Mankind could have been the greatest race to have ever walked the earth, but instead, we're regressing. We've become less than animals! I am the only sliver of hope mankind has for salvation! Can't you see that?"

Was that Light speaking? Or was that Kira? It felt like watching the strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde™, duking it out with each other in the same body, at the same time. Every word he said hit me like a fist to the chest.

Is that really what you wanted to do all along, Light? Protect us? Give us hope? If that's true, then could you tell us when protecting the innocent stopped being as important as ruling over as our god? Was that ever really a priority for you to start with?

If I had gotten the chance to ask, would you even know the answer to that?

That's when Mr. Yagami cut in: "You're right. The law is not perfect. And those who make laws aren't perfect either, which just makes it worse. But…it's a never-ending effort, with the purpose of protecting the people, all people, and the intention of serving justice."

His stoic mask from before flashed more cracks. "What you've done is selfish. No matter what, killing is never an answer to anything! Why can't you see that?"

(If that were true, then why would they be willing to subject Kira to the death penalty when they caught him? Or anyone that's ever been on death row, really?)

Light simply twisted his neck, blindly defiant. "This is nothing but a waste of time. Make all the excuses you want, but deep down you know as well as I do that your system is ineffective. What if something happened to Sayu, or Mom, and the one who did it went free? Look me in the eye and tell me that you wouldn't do what Kira has done."

"That's right! Kira is justice!" Misa testified with the fervor of a Bible-thumper. "My parents can rest in peace because of Kira! Why settle for a system you know doesn't work when you can have one that does?"

Misa, I don't think any of us would want anything to happen to our loved ones. But can getting even change anything? Since that burglar died, has it brought your parents back? Did it really give you closure?

Mr. Yagami cringed. Light turned up his nose as though mutely writing him off as a sniveling coward for his lack of an answer. As far as he was concerned, the rest of us were on the same leaky boat.

"In fact, the only reason we're standing here as we are is because of L's selfishness, and yet you have the nerve to accuse me of such. I'm changing the world for us, but this has been little more than a game to him, a contest to see which of us was more superior. You're all honestly more willing to trust him over me? Useless fools..."

And then began the grand finale to the horror show to end all horror shows. Light started twisting around, like he was looking for someone. "Ryuk…Ryuk, where are you?"

From out of the blue, a grotesque figure dropped from the ceiling: another huge, skinny mother like Rem, but strapped totally in dark leather and feathers, its skin tinged with an even pastier white than L's had ever been. It looked a lot more human than Rem had, but certainly not enough to be called human. Every hair on its wild black mane bristled like the hairs of a cat ready to attack.

Ryuk…!

"Right here," Ryuk purred, his stiff mask-like face frozen into a blue-lipped, crocodile-like grin that literally stretched from ear to earring-adorned ear.

I inched backwards, out of pure instinct, the scream I so desperately wanted to let out clogging my throat. It was a miracle that I didn't faint, this time, for Christ's sake! In a way, though, I kind of wish I had fainted. Then maybe I wouldn't have had to see what was about to happen next.

L, in the meantime, pressed a thumb to his lips, like he'd just seen something fascinating. "The second shinigami," he mumbled. "Can everyone who's touched the notebook see him?"

Everyone nodded, their pistols still raised and ready.

I could see him now, clear as spit. Which meant the notebook L had...it had to be the real thing.

Light toddled over to his acquaintance. "Ryuk, I can still keep you entertained," he said with a smile almost as eerie as Ryuk's was.

He glanced around the room through round, wide, devil-may-care eyes. "Oooh?"

What the hell was Light trying to do?

I got my answer almost as quickly as the question had popped in my head.

"But you have to kill them, first. KILL ALL OF THEM RIGHT NOW, RYUK!"

The world stopped turning under our feet. Misa smirked. Mr. Yagami's face completely crumbled, his once steely composure eroded by raw dismay. "Oh, Light!" He couldn't say much more than that. What can you say when your own son goes and says something like that to your face?

Ryuk's not really just gonna do it, is he?

"What's taking you so long?" Light barked, glaring at his father with the most savage face I'd ever seen on him. "Just write a name down in your Death Note!"

"Hm, just write a name down, huh?"

Oh shit, he is!

Ryuk pulled out a notebook from the holster he had strapped to his almost non-existent waist, his bony claws for fingers fishing out what looked like a pen with an intricate skull pattern from the clumps of crow-black feathers on his shoulders.

Something in the air seemed to snap, right then and there, like a bolt of energy had struck all of us into action mode. Reason had no place here, anymore. Only instinct.

"DROP IT!" shouted Aizawa.

"STOP HIM!" I heard Matsuda cry.

Just like that, the whole room began to explode like a minefield with the sound of pistols firing round after round after round of bullets popping useless holes in the walls as Ryuk continued to write, totally undisturbed. Mogi thrust a bewildered Misa to the floor to shield her from the shootout.

What did I do, in the meantime?

Well…

"Miss Crocker!"

It all happened so fast, I can't recall too many details. I don't know why the hell I ran right up to Light and Ryuk as soon as the bullets started whizzing by, without a doubt one of the most dumbass things I have done to date—if not the most—and definitely not something I would recommend trying out to anyone. Maybe I thought I could stop Ryuk from writing, somehow. I didn't know how to stop him, only that someone needed to stop him. Or maybe I just wanted them to stop firing before they killed somebody. I would not have any more friends die on me. I could not let things end like this!

Or it could've been both. Either way, I was kidding myself.

I do remember someone screeching, "STOP!" They sounded like me. And my ears popping like hell until I could hardly hear much of anything, not even the bullets buzzing by.

I guess I shouldn't have expected anything different when I wound up getting clipped. Another thing I would not recommend, ever.

I didn't realize I'd been hit until this tidal wave of sharp, throbbing pain crashed over me, dragging me to the floor before I could taste any more lead. Jesus Christ, I remember the pain all too well; like nothing I had ever experienced before in my life. It felt as though my left arm had split wide open and all the stuffing was tumbling out. Like all of the emotional pain I'd felt up until that point had suddenly become tangible, physical, my whole consciousness.

I remember clutching my arm, like I was trying to keep the limb from falling off, asking myself why the fuck did my arm hurt so much. When my hand started to feel all hot and wet, I pulled it back for long enough to find my palm stained. With blood.

Believe me, I found nothing heroic about getting plugged, never mind the good old days when I'd daydreamed about it. Again, the movies had lied to me. The last time they would ever lie to me.

Bare feet slapped against the linoleum in what sounded like my direction. Someone asked me, "Miss Crocker, are you all right?" They sounded like L. What a thing to ask.

"I just took a bullet through the arm, asshole! I feel fucking fantastic!" I never knew I was capable of reaching an octave that high. I shouldn't have screamed at him like that, though, I really shouldn't have. That bit had been my fault, not his. But it hurt, it hurt so much. It was a wonder how I could say anything at all, it hurt so much. I started bawling again, harder than I could remember ever bawling before, not only because it hurt like holy hell, but I was scared, too. I might've escaped the notebook, but it'd always been my understanding that that was what people usually did when they got shot. They died, really soon, if not immediately.

By the way the air seemed to have left the room, I honestly felt like I was going to die, there.

Until he crouched down beside me, placing the notebook by his foot. At first, he didn't move any further, like he was trying to assess the situation. Maybe he'd never personally faced something like this either, even in his line of work.

Or maybe it was that before Watari had been there to handle the gory stuff?

In the end, he pulled out this handkerchief from his pocket—he always seemed to have a handkerchief with him. Next thing I knew, L had gathered me up wordlessly in his arms, one hand cradling my head against his shoulder, the other pressing the handkerchief over my arm, squeezing it. Was he trying to stop the bleeding?

I couldn't see his face from my spot on the floor, but I thought I could feel him shiver against me...or that could've been just me. Hell, for a while there, I'd almost forgotten how much I hated him for what he'd done. The pain wouldn't allow me a mite's worth of concentration, not even for the mere fact that L was hugging me, again.

That, and how Light had started up cackling again, louder, shriller, more maniacal than I had ever heard him, or would ever hear him. As soon as I'd hit the ground, the bullets had stopped firing, and now all I heard was that gruesome cackle drumming on my temples. Kira's cackle. I really don't want to think that that was Light cackling. Light was the guy who'd tell me to calm down, all the time.

It didn't help at all that Ryuk had started yukking along with him. Their faces twisted with an inhuman sense of glee, I couldn't tell who had the worst laugh. To tell you the truth, as I squinted at the two of them swaying side by side, howling their heads off like this was the funniest and most deranged joke in the history of jokes, I couldn't tell anymore which was which, who was who.

"It's no use," Light heaved. "Ryuk, have you finished?"

"Uh-huh," Ryuk chuckled. This shinigami was nothing at all like Rem. Maybe shinigami were as different from each other as people were from each other?

I thought I could see Misa's smirk broaden.

"Let me see."

Ryuk held out his open notebook to Light. "Sure thing."

Of course, I couldn't see what Ryuk had put down. But whatever he had written, Light's face shattered as soon as he had read it, like he'd just been socked in the jaw. Misa's, too. Mr. Yagami's, especially.

The world remained frozen in mid-rotation, like it'd never rotate again.

"Sorry, kid," Ryuk said, not sounding all that sorry at all. Almost as though he were mocking Light for the soup he was in. "But you might as well be dead, if you're relying on me."

That could only mean one thing.

Ryuk really had written only one name down.

Just like that, Light's godly façade shattered into pieces around his feet, almost like it'd never existed. "No, w-wait a second! I told you, I'm going to keep you entertained!" The god had become a begging mortal, his pleas falling on deaf ears. Out of pure desperation, he lunged at Ryuk, only to pass right through him before toppling to the floor behind him. Like a fallen angel with his wings permanently clipped. No. Like his wings had been ripped completely out of his back.

While Light twisted around to face him, Ryuk turned his head to grin at him. "Nope. Let's face it, Light: you've lost the game. And I don't wanna lie around waiting until you finally die in prison. Thanks, though. It was fun while it lasted. We eased each other's boredom for quite a while."

"Wh-what are you talking about, Ryuk? The fun's just started!"

Suddenly, the pain in my arm couldn't compare to the pain I saw etched into Light's haggard features, like he was just now coming to the realization that he wasn't at all as omnipotent as he thought. In spite of myself, I started to reach out again, like I could still help him. But L sort of wouldn't let me do even that. The guy had become some kind of anchor.

Did he not realize what was happening to Light, right in front of him? 

"Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you: humans who use Death Notes…don't make their way to Heaven or to Hell. So what awaits them after death?" Ryuk asked, like he didn't know the answer himself.

With the widest, toothiest grin he could muster, Ryuk hissed, "Nothing." 

Then, it happened. One minute, Light was on his feet, staring at Ryuk through bloodshot eyes. The next, he was on the floor on his side, clawing at his chest and gargling as though trying to say something—plead for his life?—but the words wouldn't leave his throat.

As Misa struggled against Mogi, I heard Mr. Yagami cry, "Light!"

"H-how could you…Ryuk? I can't afford to die now!"

Footsteps thundered along the linoleum with the thunder rolling outside as Mr. Yagami rushed to his son's side, drawing him up into his arms so that his back faced the rest of us.

What's happening? Light? Light! Light, please, don't leave us! As if he hadn't done that a long time ago. Goddamn it, when I'd said I wanted no more people to die—

What had Ryuk meant by "nothing?" It sure as hell didn't sound good.

But hang on. Hadn't L written in the notebook, too? And Misa?

Then…wouldn't that mean…?

By that point, I wasn't sure if I could think or feel. All I had left were my basic senses so I could watch Light die, right in front of me, yet miles away.

"L-Light, wait! Don't go, don't go! You can't leave me! Don't leave us here! We need you! I need you!"

Realizing what was happening to him, and how powerless she was to stop it, Misa began to sob, her struggle against Mogi turning all the more violent. The way she cried and writhed against him, it almost seemed as though she were having a heart attack, herself. Like she had invested so much of her psyche into Light in the time she had known him that she was in-sync with him, suffering every ounce of pain that he was.

Like watching her parents all over again...

"How could this happen?" Light groaned in agony. "All I…all I ever wanted was real justice...the kind of justice you taught me about…you can't let me die like some goddamn CRIMINAL!"

I'll never forget how he squealed, the way he rolled out of his dad's arms and convulsed along the ground like a fish out of water to leave smears of blood in his wake, like all the pain and evil in the world had gathered in his body in that one moment to possess him. The louder he howled, the louder Misa wailed, until all I heard was raw, bitter wailing as Mr. Yagami fought to gather him back in his arms, just to keep the bastard from flailing around, oh God make it stop! 

I caught one glimpse of Light's swollen, gaping face as he lay fighting for his life, his face shiny with tears and sweat—first and last time I ever saw him cry—and I could never forget that, either. He never looked more desperate, more frail…

…more human.

Seeing his face hurt me more than all of the bullet wounds in the world.

"L," I found myself pleading, like it'd do me any good. "St-stop this. Help him, you gotta help him…he's dying, L, do something!" I tried to get up myself, but the sonofabitch wouldn't budge. His grip on me tightened, the more I squirmed against him. He still didn't say a word.

What was there to say? Light was beyond anyone's help, now. I'd been kidding myself, again. In just a few more seconds, he...

"K-Kira was real justice," Light choked once he'd quit screaming, his voice blunted with a profound regret that I can't wrap my mind around even to this day. "Dad…pl-please understand…"

Those were his last words, broken and faded as the last breath he ever drew. He wasted it defending Kira. Defending his cause. Begging us to open our eyes to what we were losing. What the whole world was losing.

Then, like a candle flame in the wind...he fell still.

He didn't move again.

He didn't even get to finish what he was trying to say.

Just like that, Kira had abandoned the world, taking Light from us like a robber and leaving the metallic stench of blood in his place. Emptiness fell on us like an avalanche, as the storm outside began to fall. Like it'd lost the will to carry on.

There was no headline for this. Silence had become the most deafening noise any of us had ever heard in our lives.

"Light!"

...

"No..."

...

Mr. Yagami heaved Light's name as if it were a cord wrapped around his neck, tightening with every second he gave us no response. A victim, his own kid, dead in his arms, and he could do nothing for him.

"Did I really make you do this...?"

...

"Light...how could you?" he kept asking weakly, never to get an answer as he held his son closer to him. Rattling him by his slackened shoulder, like that could bring him back to us.

"H-how could you...you little bastard?"

Misa, sapped of every ounce of tenacity in her, finally dropped to her knees. Mascara and rouge ran with her tears, creating a sort of melting mask as her face practically touched the floor. Before long, Mogi and Aizawa were bowing their heads with her, keeping their own grief as tightly bottled up as they could, even in the face of despair.

The last thing I heard, all I could hear, was crying. Misa's. Matsuda's. Mr. Yagami's. My own. The damn tears could've drowned all of us.

…

…

…

…

Where was the justice in any of this?


	27. Pain

"There is nothing more tragic in life than the utter impossibility of changing what you have done." 

-John Galsworthy, Justice, 1910

…

I don't remember what happened the rest of that day too well. The time between seeing Light die and when I woke up again is just a big fuzzy patch to me.

The next time I woke up I was in bed but not my bed. More like one of those stiff infirmary beds with clean white sheets and IV lines and all in the middle of a sterile white room. It took longer for my brain to start up again, but for a second I thought I might've been in a hospital. The gown I was wearing made me think that, too. I couldn't remember putting on that gown.

I forced myself to sit up and look around the room. As soon as my eyes adjusted to the light I noticed the lack of windows. That's horrible, not having windows to show you the outside world. Something to let me know that I was still in the world I knew and loved, that I was still alive. Not having windows made me feel like I was in a tomb or something. Like I was…not alive.

It didn't help any that I'd woken up alone. I would've thought that at least Matsuda would've been there if nobody else, but no one was. I couldn't even remember what the hell had happened before for a minute there; I felt so light-headed. Like I was dreaming.

In a way, I wished I had been dreaming. That everything that'd happened up until that point had been nothing but a nightmare. But reality bitch-slapped me again when I started to move and winced. Felt like a jellyfish had socked me in the arm.

When I lifted my sleeve to look at my arm, I found the upper part of it wrapped in fresh bandages.

I guess I hadn't needed amputation, after all. This was no cause for sighs of relief, however, far from it. I'd still lost something precious all the same.

No, not something. Someone. Light, Watari, Misa to an extent, Rem to another. In just a couple more days, I would lose another one, by his own doing. And I was helpless in the whole damn thing.

Once that reality, the memories, began to seep into my skull, it put me in an even worse stupor than whatever I was on did. I felt so many things about the whole thing in that one moment that in a way, I hardly felt anything at all. Like I was in a coma, dreaming, no matter how badly I wanted to wake up.

I think that was a big part of the reason—if not the whole reason—I eventually found it in me to put on my glasses and haul my ass out of bed, after spending God knows how long staring out into deep space. I wanted to go out to find everyone still around, still alive. Like I still had a chance to stop things from panning out as they had in my mind.

Reality is a cold, hard, vindictive bitch.

The hallways were deathly silent when I managed to stumble out into them, except for the ventilation. But even that didn't comfort me. It whispered from overhead like ghosts that would haunt me for a long time coming, long after I'd leave those hallways behind. But for the moment, I spent my focus on just making it to the monitor room, the cold floor rocking underneath my bare feet as I groped the wall for tenuous support.

He would be there in the monitor room. He always was. That was probably the only predictable thing about him.

How did it feel, L? How did it feel, knowing you were going to die? Ever since I'd gotten tangled up in the case, I'd had moments when I thought that I'd die. Hell, each and every one of us must've felt that way at least once, even Mogi. In fact, it must've been much worse for the guys, having willingly had their lives on the line for so long, not knowing which day could be their last, not knowing whether they'd get to come home to their families and friends, or even if they'd get a chance to say good-bye.

But it's one thing to think you're going to die, and that doesn't seem nearly as horrible as knowing you're going to die, right down to the when and how. Being not only certain of it, but accepting it, without a fight…

…which you kind of can't do anyway, if you went out of your way to set it up, like that.

And for what? No one was saved with your sacrifice. None of the victims came back. So goddamn it, L, what did you do it for?

Well, however he might've felt about it, he did a terrific job hiding it on his face. That killed me. That had always killed me, to be honest. How could a guy treat his own death—any death, for that matter—like it was business as usual? Had being L really left him that jaded?

When I found him crouching at the desk, he had his rounded back to me. He didn't even look back as I crossed through the threshold, where I stayed to watch him. Scattered in front of him on the desk were the stacked notebooks, a matchbox, a candle, and on the floor, a big tin box, the kind for those fancy gourmet chocolates.

Now what was he up to?

"You're out of bed, Elin," I heard him mutter, keeping his back to me. "I don't think it's wise for you to be up and about if you're coming off the medication."

My hands clenched into fists. The very first word out of my mouth since Light's death was: "Erin."

"Come again?" As if he hadn't caught that, the first time.

"My name. Is. Erin. You heard me. Erin, Erin, Erin, Erin! Erin Blogger! Erin Jean Blogger! Erin Jean Blogger, fucking Esquire!" I threw that "Esquire" part in strictly for the hell of it. I had to prop myself up against the entryway to keep from collapsing into a pile of blubber, either from pent-up rage or the drugs. After all that time of walking around with a dumb alias, I would've thought it'd feel spectacular to finally go by my real name, again. But it didn't. What I felt was the polar opposite of spectacular.

My breathing suddenly became labored as my voice teetered back and forth between a shout and a whisper, with no healthy medium. "It's over, L. We don't need aliases, anymore. K-Kira's gone. Light's gone."

"As long as you're here, you have to address me as Ryuzaki."

My fist pounded against part of the entryway above my head. "Oh, why does that even matter, anymore? You locked in your own death yesterday, you ijit! With your real name, remember? Now you're goddamn invincible, for the next three weeks!"

I wanted to say, "your last three weeks," but I couldn't say it. I just couldn't. I couldn't call him out on much of anything, no matter how badly I wanted to since I hated him so much. I didn't even know anymore what I hated him for.

Not to say that I could only hate him for one thing.

Gulping down the incoming swell of sobs, I asked, "Wh-where's everyone? Where's Matsuda?" Why's everyone leaving, now? Why are they all leaving me? 

L still wouldn't look back at me. "Matsuda is unable to see you, at present."

"Why?"

"He's been ordered to refrain from contacting you for the time being." You should've heard the way he said that, like that was the most intelligent decision he'd ever made, right after writing his own name in the notebook. That killed me.

"WHAT? You banned him from seeing me? Wh-why the hell didja do that?" L must've banned him. No one else would've told old Matsuda to stay away from me. What I couldn't get, though, was why.

L had an answer for that, too. "You really shouldn't swear so much. It's rather obnoxious. As for why Matsuda can't see you…to put it simply, the bullet that shot you was fired from his weapon." I couldn't even believe L would pay attention to something like that; it was an accident, after all. A preventable accident, but an accident, all the same.

What am I saying? L paid attention to everyone's mistakes. Everyone's but his own.

"I wouldn't call it 'banning,' per se. But it would have been too uncomfortable for both of you given the circumstances. Besides, I would imagine him to be aiding the others in conducting the proper funeral rites at the moment, for Light."

I understood that Matsuda wanted to mourn Light with the others, but did L honestly chase him away for these reasons alone? I mean, when you said it would've been "too uncomfortable" for us both, did you mean for Matsuda and me?

Or you?

Just for that, I pushed myself off the threshold to stumble towards him, not really sure about what to do once I reached him except snap, "Come on, L, you know how he gets! You don't think it's bad enough that we've lost Light in the first place? Or that he'd had to shoot him twice before that? Twice, L! Deliberately! Spare him the torture! You're making it sound like he popped a hole in my head or something."

The saddest part was that Matsuda wouldn't have even had to have a gun, had things been different. None of them would've needed one.

The slightest twitch earned a wince out of me. "I-it's not his fault I got clipped; it's mine!" It was, too.

Soon I was practically looming over his hunched form in the swivel chair, a little surprised that he didn't correct me about calling him L, this time. Not that it would've done him much good. After everything that'd happened, I'd call him L until the cows came home. Aliases meant nothing. They'd always meant nothing.

I didn't touch him, though. I don't know why. My arm might've had something to do with it, but I don't think that was the only thing holding me back.

He wound up doing the touching, in the most unexpected way, no less. What he did, he spun the chair around to face me, his expression as blank as it'd always been. Like he hadn't just lost two people who'd come as the closest as friends to him as was possible, and that he wasn't dying, himself.

As he rose out of the chair and hopped off, he said, "You may have a point, there. That reminds me."

What he did next just about knocked me out of my senses. Before I knew it, one skinny arm had locked clumsily around my neck, pressing me to his drooping form, while the other fell over my head so a lean hand could start rubbing into the top of it.

I think that was his version of a noogie. But it didn't feel much like any noogie I'd ever gotten. Actually, it felt like he was massaging my scalp, more than anything. Then again, it took years of practice for a guy to perfect the technique.

Something that L didn't have.

I was so stunned, all I could do was stand there and let him do it, though I did manage to stutter, "H-hey! What're you doing?" He scared me, in a way, having him give me a noogie. I can't explain why exactly, but it did.

"I told you that you couldn't afford to be reckless," I heard him say while he did it, like he wasn't doing it at all. "I locked you in your room for the purpose of keeping you out of the way. Yet you managed to get in the way after all, and look what happened. You've proven to be quite a nuisance…so this is what you get."

I felt like I'd been electrocuted when I heard that, the way you might be when you stick a fork into an outlet or something.

D…did I teach him that? 

Huh. For all I knew, I probably had. Where else could he have learned it? Guy might've been an intellectual powerhouse, but he had such poor, almost nonexistent social skills, he must've picked up anything pertaining to the subject with enough exposure. Like a little kid imitating role models. A little kid in a man's body.

Jesus, that killed me so much, I couldn't tell you if I tried, especially when I was supposed to hate him and all. All of a sudden, I couldn't hold it, anymore. I started mewling. You're not supposed to cry when someone gives you a noogie, but I didn't know how else to react. Hell, I didn't even know why I was crying, anymore. Too many things had happened—and were set to happen—for me to cry about. I just leaned into him and let it go.

It really is possible to hate someone as much as you love them at the same time. And believe me, it's a horrible feeling, probably one of the worst feelings ever just after helplessness. The feeling that the whole world's crashing down around you and all you can do is watch it burn to ashes.

As soon as I started bawling, he stopped. L lifted his hand off of my head, but kept his arm loose around my neck, like a scarf. L let me stay leaned up against him and all, but he kind of tensed up when I did that, until it felt like crying against one of the statues in Central Park back at home.

I caught a glimpse of the desk behind him when I managed to catch a break, and found something there that I hadn't seen when I'd first come in, something I hadn't seen before, period. I blinked the tears out of my vision, freezing as soon as I saw an old man smiling warmly back at me, like he hadn't died in the worst way imaginable for a cool old man just the other day. I hadn't thought of L as the type to have pictures of anything, figuring he was too crazy to do even that. And yet, what's the first thing I see when I look up?

A picture of Watari. A picture of Watari out in a yard somewhere with overcast skies.

That wasn't the only thing that got me, either. The picture was displayed on the desk in a frame. Which in and of itself wouldn't have been such a strange thing—although L had the talent of making even the most normal things feel strange—if I hadn't recognized the frame as my frame. That cheesy little frame I'd made him and everyone a while ago, and hadn't seen for so long that I'd figured he'd thrown it away or something.

Yet there it was, encasing Watari in a shelter of colorful comic strips, slightly yellowed with age as they were. Protecting the only piece of Watari that L had left.

"Watari…?"

"Hm?"

With my good arm, I pointed a weak, incredulous finger at the desk. "That's…that's Watari, isn't it? On the desk?"

L hardly twitched a muscle, but he answered, "It is."

Maybe I shouldn't have—it wasn't like he would've told me—but force of habit made me ask, "Where was that taken from?"

I couldn't believe the reply I got. "From the place where I was raised for a sum of my life. Watari was my greatest supporter…all the way back from when I was a child."

Of course, he didn't say any more than that. But the fact that he'd told me, of all people, even that much, it felt…I can't find a word for how that felt. Even "incredible" sounds too mild. All the goddamn thesauruses in the world couldn't give me an adequate word to describe how it felt when I heard that.

L had just given me a tidbit on his past. For all I knew, I had become the only sentient being alive that L had ever told that to. Even Light probably hadn't had that privilege.

But that wasn't the point. The point was, Watari hadn't just been his assistant. He'd been his guardian. His family. His home.

What he'd said about not having a family…had that been another lie, then?

The tears started to come back almost as quickly as they had left. "Oh my God." That was all I could say. My nerves were shot. "Oh my God, L…I…I had no idea…"

"Yes, that was the intention." Slowly his arm slipped off my neck, and before long, his arms hung about as limp at the sides as mine were. "Fortunately, your injury is superficial." He jumped to another subject like nothing. Like he didn't want to talk about it anymore, not to a jerk like me.

"S-superficial, huh?"

"Yes. Meaning that it is near the surface of your arm."

"I know what 'superficial' means, you ijit. It just doesn't feel 'superficial,' to me. I-if it's not a big deal then why do I feel funny?"

"That's because I drugged you. I had to calm you down somehow. You wouldn't respond to anything else." His reply was so flat and dry I considered denting his forehead, make him see how he liked it feeling like this.

"Anyway, arrangements are currently being made to take you home soon. Like you've always wanted…"

I didn't like how he trailed off like that.

Home. What a beautiful four-letter word. L was right; I did want to go home, like I had all along. So I would've thought that after all of this time of being denied, I'd be ecstatic to hear that I was finally getting that chance to go back to my country, my city, my family and friends.

But...I wasn't. I couldn't tell why exactly, but I wasn't. I don't know how I felt when he said that, only that it wasn't happiness. It felt too murky to be happiness. Not even mild contentment.

I mean, after everything that had happened, for some reason I couldn't see me going home, not as clearly as I could before. How could I go back to New York, my old life, as though nothing had happened? How would I face my family and friends? I couldn't tell them anything…could I?

For that matter, what about the new friends that I'd leave behind in Japan? What about L? What would happen to him? Watari was gone. Where would that leave him?

I almost didn't want to pull away to face him; I forced myself to do it as I wiped my eyes with the tips of my fingers. Was I supposed to smile? Thank him? Nod? I didn't know. I'd turned into a goddamn basket case.

"Really?" I managed to squeak, pushing my glasses back up on my face. "Oh, boy…home. Back to the Big Apple with me, huh?"

"Big Apple? What Big Apple?" a purring voice called out from the shadows. From out of those same shadows, Ryuk's stringy shape sprang from the wall, his permanent clownish grin even broader and toothier than the first time I'd seen it if that was possible. Had I said a magic word or something?

Ryuk twisted his neck at almost a perfect ninety-degree angle. I thought I could see my reflection on the glossy surface of his big red round eyes as he leaned in too close and asked, "This Big Apple sounds pretty interesting! And delicious! Tell me, human, where can I find it?" Was that drool in the corner of his shark mouth?

Naturally I faltered a little, while L stood his ground. "So shinigami do love apples?"

"Of course they do! Well, I do, anyway. So where's this Big Apple? I wanna see it! Maybe try it, too."

Once I got my footing back, something terrible just occurred to me. The whole Kira tragedy started when a shinigami like Ryuk dropped their notebook, and a kid like Light happened to pick it up, didn't it? But if that was the case…

…would that mean that the whole tragedy could, and would, happen again? A new notebook, a new Kira—

And I couldn't stop it, no matter how much I'd want to.

My voice came out barely above a whisper. "Why? Why can't you shinigami be more careful about what you do with your stupid notebooks?"

Ryuk scratched the back of his head, nonchalant as hell. "Oh no. I dropped that notebook into the human world on purpose, actually. Me and everyone in the Shinigami Realm were bored; when you've got nothing to while forever away except gambling and napping, there isn't a lot to be except bored. So I made a gamble of my own: I dropped it to see what would happen. Light gave us some show. It's too bad it had to end, so soon. A crying shame. Say, that reminds me: are you coming up with an interesting use for it, too? It would be great if you did." He turned his head to grin at L, who had gone back to the desk to take out a match.

Ryuk's words hit me worse than a wet willy to both ears. He sure was different than Rem…or had Rem been different from other shinigami?

As soon as Ryuk asked that, L paused. Without turning back to look at either of us, he said, "An interesting use…for the notebook?"

"Uh-huh!"

It took L about three seconds before replying, "I've already used the notebook. I've written my own name in it. This will be the first and last time I'll ever use it." He punctuated his statement with a soft, sharp hiss. The hiss of a struck match.

Ryuk looked a little miffed when L said that, but made no effort to stop him. "Y'know, Light spent almost his whole time as Kira trying to find out your name, just so he could write it in and kill you." He snickered, "Who woulda thought that writing your name in the Death Note would actually save your life and win the game for you? What d'ya humans call that, irony?"

Irony: one of the cruelest forces in the universe. Even Light couldn't have done anything about it if he'd tried.

One hand squeezing my bad arm, I stepped right in between Ryuk and L to look old Ryuk in the eyes. In my distant reflection, I could see a grimace twisting up my face. "Listen, you…you…"

I wanted to call him something like "freak," or "monster," but for some reason neither term felt appropriate enough. I just kept saying "you" over and over until Ryuk was kind enough to help me.

"It's Ryuk," he said with a smirk and an unnatural, cringe-worthy crack of his neck. The way he did it reminded me too much of Light.

So I went with that. "Listen, Ryuk. You stay the hell away from this world, you hear? I don't wanna see you, your notebook, or any of your buddies from the Shinigami Realm anywhere near here for any reason!"

The higher I raised my voice, the louder my arm moaned in pain, the tighter I squeezed it, the tighter tears squeezed my eyes. "I swear to God, if I catch so much as a whiff of any of you, I'll—I'll—"

"Really? Just what do you plan to do, hmm?"

I never finished that sentence. Another sob cut me off before I could start to think of something threatening. What could I really do to stop Ryuk and his kind from fucking up the world again? As if the world wasn't already fucked up without them. I couldn't save Light or L. I couldn't do anything.

Ryuk scoffed, "Hey, hey, calm down, girl. No need to start that up again. You're all acting like somebody just died or something…oh, wait. That might be because someone did just die, huh? Hyuk hyuk hyuk hyuk!"

He laughed that creepy, wheezy laugh like he'd cracked the greatest knee-slapper in the history of knee-slappers. Boy, I might've had half the nerve to pummel him if I hadn't known what good that would've done me. What with him being a shinigami, I couldn't touch him. And honestly, why would he care if someone died?

Rem was a shinigami, too, though. She had cared. And what'd happened to her? Now she was just a pile of dust and sand sitting around in a dark, empty room.

Just then, Ryuk's neck snapped. "Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa, hold on!" He jabbed a claw in L's direction. "You know burning that's not gonna change your lifespan, right? It won't kill anyone but it won't change anything, either."

Sure enough L had lit the candle, and was now dangling one of the notebooks precariously over the tiny, flickering flame, like a little kid curious about what would happen if they touched. He still wouldn't look back at either of us. "I'm aware of that. I have twenty days."

How can he say that like it's no big deal? Like his own life has just been some kind of damn risk-free trial to him...?

Ryuk pushed one more time, "Are you sure you're not gonna use it? Light tried to use it to become the god of a new world. Doesn't that sound interesting?"

Almost sounded like a deal from the Devil himself. Sign off your soul, and he'd give you the power to get whatever it is you want the most, but with the fine print it isn't worth it in the long run. Exactly what they'd told me in Sunday school, but admittedly I'd never taken it all that seriously. Probably because it's one thing to just hear about it; it's something else entirely when it's happening right in front of you.

What could Light have been craving so much that he would yield to a power like the Death Note? What could Misa? Or Higuchi? Power? Money? Love? Vengeance? Justice? Purpose?

Thrill?

"We eased each other's boredom for quite a while." 

...

People couldn't be that crazy to do what Light did out of sheer boredom. Could they?

I don't know which chilled me more to the bone: Ryuk's offer, or L's response to it. "Light Yagami wanted to live like a god…but he didn't die like one."

No, L. He didn't. That had to be one of the few things we could agree on, if not the only thing. It should've never happened. None of this should've ever happened.

That shut Ryuk up. Well, only for a moment while he hummed to himself to try to come up with a witty comeback. I in the meantime closed my eyes to see Light's face flash behind my eyelids, his gaze bloodshot and wide with pain. A face that none of us could ever forget.

Ryuk waved a dismissive paw. "Aw, you guys are just lame. I mean it's not like you've got anything left to lose if you tried it. Then again, maybe I shouldn't expect anything less from people who don't keep apples around their place. Almost makes me wish the kid was still here...oh well."

Giant crow-wings sprang out from the clusters of feathers on his shoulders and began to carry him up to the ceiling without a sound, almost like an angel ascending to heaven in a very twisted way. Once his feet melted into the ceiling, neither of us saw Ryuk again.

Without any more interruptions, L lowered the notebook towards the flame. The yellow tongues licked the corner of the notebook, and in a flash the whole book was coated in flames, crackling in agony. He tossed the burning book into the tin box at his feet, followed right up by the second notebook until he had himself a little bonfire going on the floor. I almost half-expected him to pick up a marshmallow and start roasting it over the flames, but he didn't. He just stood there and watched it burn, like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen since TV itself.

L had finally destroyed the notebooks, like I'd wanted to do.

Why didn't he do it sooner when it would've counted?

…

Just like I'd thought, nobody who'd touched the notebooks died when L burned them. Well, L and I didn't die so I figured it safe to assume that no one else had, either. L seemed so mesmerized by the fire I wasn't sure if he noticed me leaving. Not that I gave a hoot. I left to do the one productive thing that I could still do. No way could he stop me from doing that much.

Once I got a broom, a dustpan and a sizable box together, I headed back for the room where I'd found Rem's remains. Like I predicted I found them again, untouched, forgotten. Did anyone besides me even know they were there?

Rem had left quite a bit of sand behind; I used the dust pan as a kind of shovel to scoop most of it. It felt…eerie, pouring Rem's remains into that box, the way anyone might feel when they're left to take care of the dead. But in a way, this felt even worse. No one would miss her, come out to see her and say "She looks so peaceful," no matter how corny I knew that would sound. I felt sorrier than hell for her when I thought about that. It's bad enough to die, especially in the way she had, but it's worse when no one will miss you when you do.

It kept making me wonder what would happen to L. I mean, he had no family to survive him and both his guardian and first friend/ greatest rival were gone. The rest of the world never knew him at all despite his reputation. When his time came, no one would miss him either, would they?

…

That wasn't entirely true. I would. When it all came down to it, I would. And there was always the task force; maybe they would miss him too in spite of everything? But beyond that?

Why'd this have to happen, anyway?

The more I thought about his dying, about death in general, the tighter I squeezed the box no matter how much it hurt to do it. I kept shoveling.

"Don't worry, Rem," I muttered. Talking to sand. God, was I cracked. "I—I'll find you someplace nice. Somewhere with lots of shade, peace and quiet, maybe a coupla flowers…Light won't be using Misa, anymore. He won't be using anyone anymore…"

That much was all I could say about Misa, the reason Rem was like this. I wanted to tell her that her sacrifice hadn't been for nothing but I couldn't. Light wouldn't use Misa anymore, but what about the police? They weren't through with her, were they? And the last time I'd seen her, she'd fallen to pieces upon seeing her boyfriend and "savior" die right in front of her, leave her in almost the same way her parents had. With a memory painted in blood that didn't have to be shed.

She was all alone with the rest of the world who'd believed in him. No matter what would happen, Misa wouldn't be okay, would she? The optimist in me wanted so much to believe that she would stay strong, but…

How much tragedy and heartache can someone take before they finally go to pieces? Did the fact that Misa ever took up the mantle of a serial killer in the first place mean that she fell to pieces a long time ago?

A small jolt of pain raced up my arm and into my neck, forcing me to lurch over. "I'm really sorry, Rem. None of this should've happened." I could say that eight ways to Sunday but it wasn't going to change anything no matter how true it was.

I didn't notice him enter the room right away. I only realized he was there when I felt those familiar prying eyes on my back, and even then I didn't turn to look at him. I sort of felt like shrinking for a while there; this guy had used the pressure point thing on me the day before after all, then doped me to shut me up. But I wound up going back to work instead.

L didn't say anything either at first. His bare feet slapped soundlessly against the linoleum as he shuffled his way across the room and crouched on the other side of the pile of sand. He pinched a little between his fingers and rubbed it, letting it cascade back into the pile with his head cocked in what could only be his unique brand of superhuman over-analysis.

It made him look like an idiot, somehow more than usual.

Finally his mutter broke the tension-saturated silence. "So, this is what happened to the shinigami…Rem, was it?"

For a second I wanted to smack him upside the coconut with the dustpan, but I couldn't do it. My arm bothered me too much. Couldn't even shout at him, only growl, "She's not a goddamn lab specimen, L. Stop treating her like one." I reached for the broom that I had propped up against the box, barely shifting off of my knees.

"What are you doing?" he asked me with his thumb to his lips, like it'd flown over his head. What was with all this playing dumb?

"What's it look like I'm doing?" I avoided his eyes as I grasped the broom near the bottom and started to sweep up what I could. Every sweeping motion, even the smallest brushes, earned another wince out of me.

L fooled with his lips with his thumb, tracing them with the tip. He looked so dumb with his thumb pushing on his upper lip, it was almost unbearable. "It looks like you're sweeping the shinigami's remains into that box."

Heeeere's your sign.

"God, you're a genius. You deserve a brownie, you know that? A big piece: fudge with nuts." As if you need more nuts than you already are. "I'm taking Rem out to give her a proper burial. And no, I don't mean to the trash bin. You got a problem with that?"

A part of me thought that maybe yeah, L would have a problem with it. Watari had been killed by Rem's hand, after all. But if he did he didn't show it. He had to be at least smart enough to figure that despite my question his feelings on the whole thing weren't exactly top priority.

I am such an asshole. Who was the worst between us?

Though he did say, "I don't think you should continue to strain yourself like this if it causes you discomfort."

"Well, someone's gotta do it and I don't see you busting your hump! Why're you even in here? You don't care! Why are you suddenly acting like you do?" I snapped, stopping to wipe the few beads of sweat off my brow and adjust my glasses. After that outburst, I lurched over again to hiccup a sob.

This was no way to treat a friend. You shouldn't do that to friends who'd just lost the closest thing they'd ever had to a family, were dying themselves in the meantime, and instead of dwelling on it were spending what precious time they had left taking care of you after you'd gotten your own stupid ass shot—Jesus Christ, he probably even missed out on Watari's funeral for my sake—and so in their own remote way they were busting their hump.

For that matter you weren't supposed to hate them. No way. You weren't supposed to hate friends, or the dead and dying.

I did. It felt all wrong but I hated him anyway, for all that he'd done and all that he hadn't done. Some friend I was. Some friend was L. 

I felt a hand take a hold of the broom, just a couple inches above mine.

I glared at him through watering eyes. "What're you doing?"

"I thought I might help you out," he answered quietly.

Oh, you thought you might help me out? You really wanna help me out? You're such a miracle-worker, why don't you go back in time and stop all of this PS from ever happening! Give all the victims back their lives...

I didn't say that aloud though, for some reason. Not that he really could go back and undo everything, and that was if he'd wanted to. Not even the world's greatest detective could control time. Instead I said, "You know how to use a broom?" That's a pretty dumb thing to ask, I know, but I couldn't remember ever seeing L do any kind of physical labor. Except dislocate his jaw so he could shovel as much junk food as he could down the hatch, like a snake. A snake in talent and personality.

"You seem to have an adequate handle of it. It stands to reason that I could use it just as well."

I felt like telling him where he could stick it—a broom up his butt might've done wonders for his posture—but for whatever reason I didn't. Reluctantly I loosened my grip on the broom enough to let him pull it out of my hand. Even if I hated the guy offering it, somehow I couldn't find it in me to turn down his help. I had nothing left to lose.

He had nothing, period.

So L ended up taking over the sweeping, pinching the bottom of the handle like it was the dirtiest thing he'd ever handled—he handled just about everything like it was the dirtiest thing he'd ever handled—while I manned the dustpan. Neither of us said a word for a while longer, the only sounds exchanged between us being the whisper of the broom and the whispers of sand as I poured pan-full after pan-full into the box. I hardly had it in me to so much as look him in the face.

L took it upon himself to break the silence again: "Misa should have lost her memories of the Death Note by now, along with her memories of ever being the Second Kira, and of Light's identity as the original Kira."

I jolted a little when he said that. That was because he'd burned her notebook, right?

My blood became acid, corroding me from the inside-out. You could get a bleeding ulcer just from talking to this guy. This guy was an ulcer. The kind of fella you'd only bother with because he was a legend at what he did, and I don't know if even that was enough to make people actually like him. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"I don't suppose we can prosecute someone who has no memory of ever committing the crime. So it appears that Misa will be allowed to go free." Every syllable he spoke just made the urge to grab him and toss him into the wall all the stronger. Was that supposed to make everything better? It didn't. Not much. He was telling me all this like he was giving me a damn traffic report or something.

He was so close. I could've spat a fat one right in the old pupil, maybe hit the back of his skull. Would it make a clink sound if I did, like one of those old spitoons? Don't know. I never took up on the offer. My mouth was too dry, probably because I'd been swallowing my own spit to keep hydrated. He wasn't worth a loogie.

Then he said, "You needn't worry about the shinigami. I can find an appropriate place for its remains."

That was the exact same thing he'd said before, almost. What had come out of that?

My head snapped up so fast I practically gave myself more whiplash. "Yeah? And you expect me to believe you won't fuck that up, too? You sure did a gorgeous job blowing everything else. Sensational."

L sighed, "Miss Crocker—"

The dustpan clanged to the floor. "Blogger! Blah-ger! My name is Blogger, not Crocker! Stop calling me that!"

L remained stony. "I understand that you're upset, but you must—"

"What's there to understand?" I sputtered, another round of tears rushing on like a geyser. "I wish I could but I can't stick my head as far up my ass as you can."

"Being upset doesn't give you an excuse to act so obtuse, Miss Crocker." Didn't I say he could be poetic when he felt like it? I wasn't sure if the rhyming was intentional or not though, and I didn't care. I was almost certain I'd touched a nerve with that last comment, about his head being up his ass and all. But I couldn't find it in me to care about that, either.

And didn't I just tell him that my name was Blogger? I guess when a guy had his head up his rear all the time, his hearing wasn't too sharp either.

"Oh-ho-ho, 'obtuse?' Now there's a ten thousand-dollar word! 'Don't be so obtuse,' he says. You wanna know what's really fucking obtuse? When I said I didn't want any more people to die I meant it. You told me you had everything under control, L. You lied to me about everything and then you used me as live bait! I-I thought they killed you. I thought they killed Mr. Yagami and everyone here. I thought they were gonna kill me. And you...you just stood there and watched. Like you always fucking do!"

"You're mistaken. It was never my intention to use you as bait. You invited yourself into that role. Besides, there was no need for me to intervene if they were using a fake notebook." I invited myself? Oh, what a howler! Off he went, blaming it on anyone but himself. After all when had the great detective ever been wrong?

"Is that right? So you mean to say that Mr. Yagami was supposed to be the bait? And Matsuda, he made great bait last time, didn't he? And Aizawa and Mogi, even Watari? Aw hell, it's safe to say that your idea was to make us all out into patsies somehow. Boy, did you get us good! You let Light die in the worst way imaginable, Watari's gone, Misa probably won't get to see thirty, and now you won't even get to see Christmas! So what if you destroyed the notebooks and took away Misa's memories? Why couldn't you do that before when it would've actually mattered?"

Every minute, every second that ticked away, rang in my ears like a heartbeat I could never get back. That L could never get back. They made me think back to "the bell."

If L had come up with an answer to my question I didn't give him the chance to share it. That's when I realized something. Something horrible.

"Y—you knew, didn't you? Y-you knew he was gonna die yesterday…didn't you?"

My guess was met with silence.

"When—when you were babbling about that stupid bell out in the rain…you were talking about Light, weren't you? But you let it happen anyway…"

Then he spoke up: "I honestly didn't foresee that much. Yes, I had a feeling that someone would die yesterday, but I didn't know who. I can only see so far into the future…and I didn't want it to happen any more than you did. But it happened. And that's all there is to it."

"Oh, sure! Just like how you didn't 'foresee' Rem killing Watari? You sent him after Misa even after I told you about Rem; what the hell didja think was gonna happen? Jesus, what if your ploy with the fake didn't work? Light could've figured that you'd do that and—and—I dunno, had you switch your fake with another fake while Misa had the real thing s-somewhere else. We'd have all been dead! What then? Huh? You're the world's greatest fucking detective, aren't ya? Th-the world's three greatest, for Christ's sake! I thought you were an ace at thinking ahead! You're sure an ace at lying, damn sure! Aw crap, unless you lied about that too. That would explain a lot.

"No no wait, maybe you did think that far ahead? For all we know, you coulda wrote his name in the notebook too to make him not even think of that. Why else would you want to destroy the notebooks now and not before—"

"I couldn't have done that. Ryuk wouldn't have been able to kill him with his notebook, had that been the case. Besides...do you honestly think I'd go that far?"

"Don't go acting all high and mighty, I don't know what you're capable of anymore! You lie like a lump of dog turd and if you even cared enough to have a dog and took him out for a walk I bet you wouldn't have the common courtesy to pick up that turd either."

The thing is, now that I'm thinking it over again, he wasn't acting high and mighty. Not that time. If anything he just got quieter and more monotone. Almost the way he sounded when we were out in the rain the morning before.

"That's why I don't have a dog in the first place, or any pet for that matter. Too inconvenient. Why would I pick up fecal matter, never mind with my bare hands? That's disgusting." Holy crapola, I got L to talk about literal shit, even if he hadn't used the exact word. Had the situation been happier I might have had a good laugh over that.

"That's too bad; maybe if you had one you'd be a nicer person. And picking up shit? Feh! It'd probably be the least disgusting thing you've ever done in your life. Oh and FYI, you don't pick it up with your bare hands you dingleberry, you use a plastic bag!"

That whole thing was uncalled for. Completely utterly uncalled for. The same kind of cheap shots I always hated and I threw them. How could I say such horrible things? You can't get much lower than accusing someone of resorting to murder to get what they want, never mind if it's true. Just because L did it to Light and Misa the whole time we were together didn't make it right for me to do the same.

Not even L with all of his foresight could've predicted that Ryuk would up and turn on Light like that. Maybe he really did think that Rem only had a bone to pick with him, not Watari or any of the rest of us. He probably hadn't known that Rem would die trying to kill him, let's be fair, none of us knew that except maybe Light and Misa. And as awful as he could be, he would have never done something as heinous as what I'd suggested. I realize that now. But I didn't realize it then and nothing I'll ever do will change what I said to him.

For the hell of it I raised my fist. I wasn't sure if I wanted to use it or not but I didn't get to, either way. A sharper jolt of pain shot down my arm and made me lose it as quickly as I'd made it. Clenching my arm and my teeth, I bit back a few more tears. God, was I unhinged.

If my cheap shots had left any dents at all on L he didn't show it on his face. He was good at that much, hiding his feelings, to a point where I'd sometimes wonder if he even had feelings to hide. But then, I wasn't looking up at him so…

A hand reached over to rest on my shoulder, so lightly that I almost didn't feel it at all. I almost didn't hear the voice that followed it either.

"I'm sorry." The sixth time I'd ever heard him say that.

"I will accompany you in burying the shinigami. You will have the decision on where to put it."

"Her. Rem was a her." Don't tell me you've forgotten that. You're calling her 'it' on purpose. I don't call you 'it' even though sometimes you act like you should be. 

"Okay, her. You will decide where we will bury her. But first I'm going to have to ask you to please calm down." Now he was making sense?

The only reason I shut up was—actually there were two reasons. I was tired, for one. Pathetic, yeah, but I really was snuffed, too snuffed to carry on for the time being.

Second, it could've been just me but I thought I felt L shiver right then.

…

L called Mogi for a ride. Once I got into a fresh change of clothes we left headquarters shovels a-blazing with Rem's boxed remains for the most remote shadiest place available. There's this forest by Mount Fuji, way off from the city proper called Aokigahara; it's a rugged piece of dirt that's said to be haunted and it's got a reputation for being a popular place for suicides. I wasn't sure about burying Rem in a place like that, but like I said in a place like Tokyo, it was the quietest spot we could find.

In a way, given who Rem was and how her life ended...maybe it was appropriate? Maybe she would like it here? It would be the closest she would get to home, wherever that was.

It was crystal-clear and sunny out, an unsettling contrast to the weather from the day before and everything that had taken place. As I stared out the window to watch the world zip by, I sort of wished it would be overcast. Why did it have to be sunny on a day when we felt just about anything but? Even a lot of the rain from yesterday had already dried up, leaving behind puddles that barely splashed when we drove over them. It was still chilly though, what with it being fall. All the trees by now had shed their leaves, leaving them bare and withered-looking. No more cherry blossoms until next season.

It felt like the world had no idea of the tragedy that'd just occurred. Or if it did, it'd shrugged it off. The world is funny like that.

None of us said much of anything along the way unless it was necessary such as, "Right here, Mr. Mogi."

I felt awful having old Mogi carry the box. But I couldn't carry it with my bad arm and L wouldn't do it. He was too busy scanning the woods like he'd never seen so many trees in one place before in his life. For all I knew, he really hadn't.

Or maybe he was thinking about all the deaths that had happened here. And how he was next. I almost felt like punching him again.

I mouthed Mogi a weak apology when we got out to get the box out of the trunk. He didn't once complain, though. He never complained. Guy was an ox. Still, I picked a soft shady spot under a tree somewhere a safe distance away from civilization, but not too far. Besides I didn't want to be in these woods longer than we had to be. The whole trek through I kept my eyes trained on the knotted ground, on the look-out for bones or anything that confirmed the place's rep, morbid as that sounds. There were none. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Once I found the spot it didn't take long for me to put the gloves on, get down and start digging. I could bite down the pain for Rem's sake. She'd suffered loads more than I had.

L stood by the side with his hands buried in his pockets. He didn't want to get dirty, I guess. That would've been asking for too much. "Are you sure you want to do this? All that strain can't be good for your arm."

"Shut up and grab a shovel," I grunted, stopping to wipe away the sweat and adjust my glasses and hat. "Or just flat-out shut up."

I shouldn't have snapped at him like that. If anything I should've been thanking him for letting me do this, for taking care of me at all. Some friend I was, Jesus Christ.

L didn't grab a shovel but he did shut up. Mogi took it up and started digging along with me while L watched us, drinking coffee out of a thermos the whole time. Poor Mogi ended up doing more of the work; the longer I tried to ignore my arm the worse the pain got, until it felt like I no longer had so much of an arm as I had a piece of meat and bone dangling from my shoulder, slowly being gnawed away by thousands of ants. I kept stopping in between shovelfuls to squeeze and scratch at it. The bandages had started to itch like hell and all.

Eventually, Mogi said, "Take a break. I've got this." Only six words, but those six words had me tossing the shovel to the ground as I stormed around the tree to sit on a root. As I wiped the sting of sweat and tears out of my eyes, I didn't know who I hated more: L, Light, or me.

While Mogi finished the hole, L crouched down to my level and offered me a cup. I was feeling kind of parched, so I accepted it without giving him so much as the courtesy of eye contact and wound up sipping what tasted like dirt. Sweet, gritty, gooey dirt.

I spat it right back out. "What is this stuff?" I sputtered.

Without batting an eyelash L replied, "Coffee." Only you, L. Only you.

I wanted to ask him if he was trying to poison me or what but I didn't. I gave him his cup back so I could rest my head on my arms and just try to breathe. That's what I really needed to do. Breathe. Hadn't I bitched enough?

Finally, the hole was finished. Mogi placed the box inside and covered it over with the dirt we'd dug up, by himself. While he patted it into place with the spade of the shovel, L said, "The shinigami has been buried. Let's go back to redress your wound."

Taking a deep breath, I shook my head. "Wait. We still have to say something in her honor. That's what you do for the...departed."

My legs felt like slinkies under me as I stumbled back onto my feet. Mogi stepped aside with the shovel still in his hand, looking more somber than I'd ever seen him. Given what'd happened the day before, how could I fault him for it?

When I reached the new grave, I gathered a bunch of dead leaves lying around and piled them over it, to give her more shelter. Fresh tears lining my eyes, I took off my hat and bowed my head.

Straining to come up with something to say with what little we had known about her, I gulped, "Good-bye, Rem. I hardly knew you—well, none of us knew you, really—but from what I could see, you were…a fine shinigami. B-but even more than that, y-you were…a good person. I-in your own way. You tried. You were forced into a bad situation and did a bad thing, but I think we can forgive you for it in time. We're sorry things turned out this way. Misa will…"

I quick fired L a glance, anxious as hell. He just nodded once. I wasn't sure whether to believe him, his stiff expression none too promising, but I had to tell Rem something about Misa.

"Misa will be okay. Rest in peace."

…

The next day brought with it the final, final straw.

I woke up alone again—well, not really. I found a platter of breakfast food sitting on the table. Actually I'm not sure if I could call it "breakfast food," by normal standards. What I had waiting for me was a cup and pot of tea with a bowl of sugar cubes, donuts, and waffles drowned in so much syrup that they looked like they'd been dipped in the stuff.

This must've been L's version of "breakfast."

Hold on. He...made breakfast? For me? Here I was thinking he couldn't make a meal for himself, never mind for someone else. Watari and Mogi had always been the chefs around here.

Getting over the surprise I tried to eat it, but all I ended up doing was kill whatever was left of my appetite. Waffles aren't that great when they're all soggy and drowned in syrup. I nibbled on a donut (which was kind of stale, this tray must've been here for a while), sipped on some lukewarm tea (L had let me add my own sugar this time), but even that almost made me feel like throwing up. Boy, was I sick. Not many things worse than wanting to throw up but you can't when you haven't eaten anything.

I kept asking myself, How can he stand to eat this on a regular basis? Why would anyone want to eat this on a regular basis? Even a kindergartener would get sick of it after a while...

It got me to thinking about L in general. Since we'd come back from burying Rem he hadn't said much of anything to me, and unless it was necessary seemed to avoid touching me. That night I'd spent maybe half of it wondering if he'd try to sneak in and crawl in under the covers like he had in the past. Because he was…all alone now. But he never did.

Was he treating me like this because of how I'd been treating him?

…Had I hurt his feelings?

No, that didn't sound right. L had never crossed me as the type to let his feelings get hurt. Or at least he never let on if they were. He'd be a natural at poker. Or just about any game in the same vein.

Well whatever was the matter, I felt so lousy and that a good solid apology was in order. But for some reason I wasn't sure if I wanted to apologize. I still hated him. I'd only said all that shit because he'd deserved it.

Not that that justified it, though. Not really. Did it? He hadn't deserved everything I'd said. Some of it had been out of plain spite. Believe me, I don't like being spiteful. This thing had brought out parts of everyone that we didn't like.

He made a mistake and he's paying for it as much as you are and everyone else is, and more. You'll get to go home; he's dying. Do you really want his last days on this great blue marble to pan out like this? He's alone now, and isn't he your friend? You're supposed to make the dying's last days easy, not hard. You're not supposed to hate them, not when they're wasting their time taking care of you. 

…

But if he'd listened to me he wouldn't have to be dying right now. We wouldn't have lost Light and Watari and he wouldn't have to be taking care of me. He wouldn't let me see Matsuda, for Christ's sake. 

You can't change that now. Neither can he, can he? 

The back of my head throbbed like a bastard. I felt like crying again. I'd been crying so much it hurt just to blink. What should I do?

Without really thinking about it, I changed and left the room. I didn't know what I was going to say to him. I was only sure of this much: I had to see L. He needed me right now. And in a way I needed him too.

L was in his swivel chair with his back turned to me when I came in, wolfing down his own breakfast. Cake. Either chocolate or coffee, probably the last thing Watari had ever made for him. His hair stuck out all over his head like antennae like it always did, every strand quivering a little. Like he'd detected my presence before I'd even come in.

After about two minutes of clearing my throat and wringing my hands, just after he swallowed, I squeaked, "G-g'morning, L."

"Good-morning," he answered as flat and even as ever like nothing was deadly-wrong. He was already halfway through the slice on his plate and a quarter through the cake overall.

I couldn't remember seeing him with an entire cake before, only slices. He was probably thinking about Watari and I remembered how I'd pretty much brushed that off the day before, not that I meant to. If I wasn't feeling crummy before, now I felt downright rotten.

"How's your arm?"

"Getting better all the time. Heh, it can't get no worse. Hey, I—I didn't thank you for yesterday, did I? For helping me out with Rem and all. Thanks for that. And, uh, for breakfast too. No joke, you're a—"

Freaking sweetheart. 

I stopped before I could say that; it didn't feel appropriate even if it was kind of true. Especially the "freaking" part. I paused to take a shaky breath, heart hammering like a tenor drum and stomach churning like a washer. "L, listen. We need to talk—"

"I was about to propose the same." He put down his fork and pushed the plate away. Without asking if I wanted to go first he announced, "Everything's been worked out."

"Everything's been worked out." God, I hated that line. Especially coming from him. The instant I heard that, my guts dropped to the floor.

Well before that, the fact that he put his fork down was a bad omen in itself. He usually pigged out and talked with his mouth full when things were supposed to be serious. If something made him actually stop eating then it had to be really bad. To him, anyway.

"Worked out?"

"Yes."

"W-wait. What d'ya mean by that? What's going on?"

The whole time he spoke, he didn't once look back at me. I hated that too, his not looking at me. I hadn't exactly given him that courtesy either lately but if he was going to tell me some bad news—no matter what he called it otherwise—he should've at least faced my direction. Did having his head up his you-know-what make him blind, too? "Hm, I thought that that would be obvious. You're going home."

…

Took me longer than it should've to process what he'd said. "Me? Home? T—today?" Wittiest response ever, hot damn.

"That's correct. You're boarding the first flight out. The others should be arriving soon and will direct you accordingly. I see that you're already dressed to go."

My mind reeled circles across the globe before launching to burn in the atmosphere. I had to stick my pinkie in my ear to make sure I'd heard that right. There could be no way I had. He wasn't even looking my way, how would he even...?

I was already coming up with excuses before the news sunk in. "What d'ya mean I'm...you sure about that?" My head rattled like a bobble-head toy. "What about my arm?"

For every excuse I threw up, he shot it down. "The abrasion is superficial. It should heal as long as you don't do anything to aggravate it." Like I was some little kid picking at a scab. "Besides, you yourself just said that it was getting better."

"Aren't you even gonna, y'know, let me pack? For Christ's sake I just got up, I haven't even—"

"Taken care of. Your things have already been cleared out for you." Typical L, always touching your stuff behind your back. Nothing was sacred to this kid, I swear to God.

Another sick twist of irony: I'd spent all this time asking, begging to go home, never to be heeded. Now just when I want to stay what does he do? He packs all my stuff while I'm laying there all night wondering what he's doing and if he's okay and kicks me out the next day.

How could he? How could he do this to me right when I was trying to make amends and all? And go about it so…unceremoniously, at that?

But just after hearing that, my mind was racing in the opposite direction. That anger, that hatred I'd stuffed down was rearing its ugly head again, eating me from the inside-out like a mutant half-human half-vampire fetus.

A bolt of pain fired from my arm and into my chest—or vise versa, I wasn't paying much attention. As I reached over to squeeze my arm, my voice came out hoarse from the lump in my throat. "Dude…wh-why are you sending me home now?"

"I gave my word. I said you could go home when Kira was caught. That was our agreement. Now that the case is closed, there's no reason for you to be here anymore. You would have been on your way sooner had I not found it necessary that you stay for observation after sustaining that injury. Well, technically you still could have gone home even then, that is had you not needed the tranquilizer."

He sounded like one of those stuffy airline clerks who talk to you like it's your fault you missed your flight and you were wasting time haggling that they could have spent for their break. Suddenly he was acting like he was a man of his word and had been for his whole damn life, never mind that since I'd known him he'd almost always been the opposite.

Maybe he only kept his word when it was convenient for him?

"Aren't you worried I'm gonna go out there and blab about you and the case the first chance I get? That was your problem with me from the start, wasn't it?"

"You won't tell anyone. Besides no one would believe you if you did. They'd think you were insane. And even if someone did believe you, it wouldn't matter now. It's as you said: the Death Note has made me invincible, if temporarily." He sounded so sure of that it made me sicker than before. Maybe because I knew deep down he was right. I wouldn't say a goddamn word.

Problem was I'd told him exactly that myself in the beginning. And now after almost six months he finally believed me? Pigeon shit.

"Well hold on, you've still got, what, nineteen days left? If I left now…what'll happen to you?"

"Naturally when those nineteen days are up, I'll die." I didn't like how he said that. "Naturally." Like he was explaining to me that water was wet because I was too dumb to figure that on my own. He almost always sounded like that to everyone, every time he opened his mouth.

Come to think of it, Light was kind of that way too, if a lot nicer and less direct about it.

"I am staying here until that happens."

…

"Y...you're just gonna sit here and wait 'til you croak? Isn't anyone gonna be with you?"

He stopped to adjust his picture of Watari that sat by his cake, keeping his eyes on his face. "No. Misa, Aiber and Wedy have already gone home, Watari's body has been shipped back..."

Shipped back? Back where, to that place in the picture? You didn't go back with him? And you're not going to, are you?

"...and I imagine the others will have returned to the police, by now. They'll return to collect my body and carry out the funeral rites in my honor...that of course will be after the fact."

Honor? What honor? What was honorable about any of this? What was this pigeon diarrhea spewing out of his mouth?

"I have enough food and supplies in the meantime to last the rest of the time I have left so you needn't trouble yourself with that." He sounded like he was going camping or something. L hated the outdoors. Well, maybe not hate but he'd never shown any fondness for it, that's for sure.

That prompted me to march right over and spin the chair around to at least have him face me. Hand gripping the back of the chair, I knelt down to his level to squint at him through the tears. "What's the matter with you?" Besides everything?

"You don't have to die alone, L. Don't you give me that. Who said you had to?"

His curt reply to that had to be one of the most disgusting responses I'd ever heard out of him. "I did. That's the idea."

He might as well have kicked me right between the lousy eyes and broke every stupid bone in my face. "What?" 

…

I thought about what dying would be like, at least in L's case. Would it be slow and painful? What am I thinking, a heart attack? Of course it would. It sure looked slow and painful when it'd happened to Light. Pain might be the last thing he'd ever feel, he was going to face that all by himself and he was okay with that? Not only that but he wanted it that way?

My face shattered into pieces around my feet, faster than I could pick them back up. "Look, i-if this is about what I said yesterday—"

"I assure you, that has nothing to do with my decision."

Yeah. Your decision. Not anyone else's. That was all that mattered in the end, wasn't it? Always the captain. And you were going down with the ship, weren't you?

"I simply think it's best you went home now and I were left alone. Besides, isn't this what you've wanted all this time? Given how much you've complained about it, you should be happy."

He tried to use his weight to spin the chair around but it wouldn't budge. I wouldn't let it.

"You can let go now."

"No." 

The tears rolled out so fast and hot and hard it was a wonder I could speak at all. "Sure, I wanna go home. But I…I can't just go home when a friend is dying, L. You can't make me."

I'll never see you again once I leave this place…you can't seriously WANT this, can you? He's screwing with me, he's GOTTA be! Just like with Aizawa—

He started getting cold as the lowest pit of hell. Hell would've been a magical place chock-full of sugar cubes and cupcakes compared to where he was going. "I wonder if you would still want to stay if I wasn't dying, or at least if you didn't know that I was. Either way, I already have. The others should be parking outside as we speak. This isn't an argument you can win. As if you could win that many to begin with."

He was right in a way. I almost could never win with him. No one could, really. Except maybe Light, but he was worm-chow as of two days before. I don't know why I kept trying. Old L, he was a goddamn brick wall: the more I banged my head and heart against him, the more they cracked and splintered. While he would come out of it none the worse for wear. God, how I hated him. And I'm sure at that point I wasn't the only one.

My jaw started to clench. "What the hell's that mean? L, just what kind of sucker do you take me for? I'm not leaving you. You pulled this same stupid stunt on Aizawa, remember? And he ended up coming back anyway to help bust Higuchi. You of all people should know the same trick doesn't work twice. I'm not that stupid. So drop the act kid, I ain't going anywhere."

He seemed to curl tighter into himself like a hedgehog, drawing his knees in closer to his chest. He must not have liked me getting up in his personal space, even though he would do the same thing to us almost all the time. "Are you sure about that? You were gullible enough to fall for my lies, despite the fact that you saw me lie to Light every day that he was confined. I warned you on the roof about believing anything I say, didn't I? Not that I find it that surprising you didn't listen. It seems it's been a near-constant game of reverse psychology with you and frankly I stopped finding it amusing a while ago. But really, this isn't a test. If it were I would have presented you with a choice."

You just said don't listen to what you say, motherfucker, stop talking in circles! 

"Now if I recall from yesterday's excursion you are obligated to honor the dead and dying regardless of what they've done, and I'm under the impression that this includes respecting their final wishes. The shinigami's wish was that Misa remain safe, which she is. So I want that respect for mine."

"I said no! Read my lips: I. Am. Not...I'm not leaving you, goddamn it!" 

Despite his age and temperament (or lack thereof), L was otherwise your typical spoiled brat. He didn't like it when you told him no. But if he said no, you had to smile and eat it.

Light too, in his own way. He was just better at hiding it.

"Hm. Yes, you are. The conditions I wrote in the Death Note were for me to die peacefully. With you as company my death will be anything but peaceful."

…

That was it. When I heard that, that. Was. It. All that animosity I'd had towards him, probably all the way back from day one, accumulated in front of me in a tear-induced haze.

"Will you please stop crying? All you'll get is another headache for both of us. With the sheer volume of liquid you shed from your eyes, it's no wonder you keep losing your contacts. You know tears won't sway me; I only find them pathetic and irritating. I always have. There is nothing worth crying about," L added, like he was getting bored stiff with watching the waterworks if he hadn't gotten bored already.

So you can feel something after all?

You would think that after making that mistake with Watari I wouldn't do it again. Right? I think so, too. But there's the problem. I wasn't really thinking anymore when L said that. Well, I was but not about what to say. I mean, having somebody you care about, no matter how against the odds that is, who's dying tell you to get lost because you're just going to annoy him all the way up to when he finally goes just by being there, and then call you pathetic for daring to cry over him...how does it get much worse than that?

In a way, this time was worse. The last time I spoke to Watari I hadn't known he would die. That doesn't excuse how I treated him, what could ever excuse that? But I hadn't known he would die. Or Light either.

I knew L was dying and everything, and...

I got deadly-quiet at first, like something between a whisper and a hiss as I let go of his chair.

"So…that's it, huh?"

What I should've said, I should've told him that he did the best he could, he might have made a horrible mistake but maybe it wasn't all his fault it turned out like this, he was one of the most amazing guys I—hell, any of us had ever met, if not always in a good way, and he didn't really have to be alone because I was still here and sohelpme I always would be even if not in the physical sense. The stuff of corny chick flicks that maybe isn't all that corny when you honestly feel that way about someone.

Not sure how much that matters though, because that's not what I ended up saying. No. All I could concentrate on was how much I hated him, for all that he was. That moment he was one of the most despicable people I had ever met or would ever meet, with Light as the only other nominee keeping him from securing the title of Most Despicable. "Dephff-picable," with a Daffy™ lisp. This wasn't a mistake. Forgetting to set your alarm or not watching your step was a mistake. There were mistakes and happy accidents and tragic accidents and then there was this. L didn't make mistakes. What he and Light had done were choices. Somehow that made them seem all the viler from where I was looking.

Not even Higuchi and the Yotsuba Group, for everything they did, could top these two. For one, at least those guys didn't pretend they were doing what they were doing for anyone's benefit besides their own.

"It all makes sense. Why you wouldn't let me give the notebook back, why you didn't burn the notebooks sooner…wh-why you're dying now…all for solving the case, right? A heroic sacrifice in the name of justice?"

In spite of my arm, my hands clenched into fists, fingers turning white and stiff from the lack of circulation.

"Your head's so far up your ass it's a wonder you haven't vanished into nonexistence yet."

L didn't say a word as I gathered everything I had in me to glare back into his gun-barrel gaze. He wanted a headache? He'd get a fucking migraine.

"We had a chance. We could've beat Kira without stooping to his level. Had we just taken it, Light might still be here...a-and Watari, he would still be around. No more people, people or shinigami, would've had to die, including you. I squealed on him and Misa because I thought it would save lives, L. I thought I was doing the right thing and you were the only one left that I could turn to. I didn't do it just so you could...

"M-maybe that's where I made my mistake. That's the one thing you're right about. I did trust you. I believed in you. I shouldn't have, not for a nanosecond, but I did. I hadn't listened that much to you in the beginning 'cause I couldn't find a reason to then. You expect people to prove themselves to you at every turn, which I could almost kinda understand except we can't seem to expect you do the same for us. If you really don't trust people that much you shoulda stayed in the rotting log you crawled out of; you'd have probably gotten just as much done. Then when I do get a reason to trust you, you still end up blowing it. You can't have it both ways no matter who you think you are.

"Shit, it's not just me. We all believed in you. Th-they gave you their all and then some, most of it you didn't even have to ask for.

"Mr. Yagami bent over backwards, drove a bus through a building, went to jail, used a gun on Light and took a bullet for Wedy, he trusted you that much, despite the fact that you were pitting him against his own son. He does all that so he can go home to his family and tell them that they'll never see Light again when we had that one shot at making sure of otherwise. What the hell do you expect him to tell them this time? I sure hope you've come up with another good story for him to cover all the bases. Or is that his problem now?

"Matsuda, he was always looking up to you, looking for your approval. That's why he was always messing up, you know. A little 'Great job, Matsu' woulda blasted him over the moon. 'Great job.' That's it. And not even every day, just once in a while. He's pulled a lot more weight than you, that's for sure. Twice he almost died for this thing, by choice."

This is where you tell me that what you just did is no different, even though it is.

"I don't know about you but the only thing he didn't have to do was use that gun."

No response.

"And no matter how little you guys saw eye-to-eye Aizawa chose to waste time he could've spent with his family on you, even if it meant missing his oldest's sixth birthday. You weren't even doing anything then and he still stayed late. How d'you thank him? You throw it in his face and force him to choose between you and them for no good reason except to show him who's boss and be an asshole. Oh but you're an orphan too so I guess that excuses you from having a lick of empathy for the guy in the first place, huh?"

Jesus Christ. The fuck. Why did I say that? He'd told me that in confidence, something he had little of for people to begin with. Why he didn't knock all my teeth out right then and there just for that, I couldn't tell you. Maybe because he knew I was trying to rile him up as he'd done to me so many times before.

"Mogi. You know how often he wanted to take a break and try some recipe he'd read up on somewhere, but couldn't because he had all that work you put on him and Kira wasn't going to catch himself? I can't even grasp what sorta crap Wedy and Aiber or even Watari have had to put up with from you.

"They could've jumped ship like everyone else, they had reason after reason to. But they didn't. They go through all of this...this pigeon shit, because someone needed to bring Kira to justice and you were the guy with the brass to do it. The ace, the big damn hero, the leader who'd know what needed to be done and how to get it done. Or at least, that's what you were supposed to be. But you know what? All things considered, I think these guys you've been stringing along are the real heroes in this story. You?"

I started to laugh all of a sudden, or at least I think it was laughter. It felt too harsh and bitter to be and none of this was funny by any stretch of the imagination. Except maybe in a dark, twisted, grim, skin-crawling kind of way. "What's there to say about old lousy you? Y-you were gonna leave the whole world hanging because you hit a dead-end and it looked like your whole theory was probably gonna turn out wrong. But the guys kept going when you gave up. They did the work that you should have done and probably could have if you just weren't being such a sad dope about it. They risked their lives when all you did was talk a big game. Holy Christ, Light and Misa ended up figuring out who the next Kira was and they were supposed to be the bad guys! Hell, even the guys who jumped ship didn't stay away even after seeing some of their own fall in the line of duty, none of which by the way you did anything to prevent at all when you very damn well could have. But cops are a dime a dozen, ain't they?

"When you told 'em to back off the police came back to help catch Higuchi. But I haven't heard any thanks thrown their way, no condolences for the families. Nah, you just swoop in and take the credit for all the work like you coming up with all the fucking plans while you sit there with one thumb up your pasty emaciated tight ass and the other in your mouth somehow gives you all the credit when things go right. Never mind if you didn't actually come up with it. Ah, but when they go south then it's a whooole different ballgame. 'Matsuda, you idiot.' 'Sorry Aizawa, no room for people who can't give their all and I don't give a damn if you've got mouths to feed.' 'The police are useless pushovers.' 'You invited yourself into almost getting killed, Erin.' Hell, it might as well be our fault you ended up killing yourself."

"When did I say—"

"You might as well be! That's your problem; you just can't accept it when you're wrong and something might actually be your fault. Yeah, we're all fuck-ups too but at least we're honest about it! You're like Inspector Gadget™ but at least he's fun and nice.

"And it's not just that. W-we were friends and all, too. How else can a bunch of yahoos like us put up with each other if we didn't care about each other? Somehow we were still friends. You know, family-like? Or...so I thought. For a moment I thought, nuts, maybe you're not as bad as I first thought you were, or as everybody says you are?"

"Were friends?" Why didn't I say "are friends?"

"Well lo and behold, it didn't work out that way. And now I know why."

"I only did it to protect you—"

"Ohhh, called it! Christ, you're doing it again and you sound just like him on top of it! Now you wanna blame it on me. Boy, you'd be a champ at limbo; there's no stop to how low you can go."

"That's not what I said—"

"Pigeon shit, that's exactly what you're saying! Protect, my foot. Then why didn't you just destroy the notebooks like I said you should? Cut the crap, kid. You couldn't stand to forfeit. If you'd destroyed those notebooks the case would've never been solved. Kira would get away with his mask intact. You couldn't deal with that. Could you?"

L: cracking over 3,500 uncrack-able cases, and that's only as high as the public can count, under that one name. Why the hell not go for 3,501? Grab one more prize for your already packed-to-the-gills mantel? 

My voice climbed with every word, not allowing me to take a complete breath between punctuation marks. "I was wrong...and Light was right, wasn't he? This was just a game. Y—you couldn't let it go. You just had to win, come out on top at any cost. This never had anything to do with justice, did it? All you wanted was to bring them to their knees, expose them for the rotten criminals they were to all and everyone. What was the other thing you said? Oh yeah: Sentence him to death. You knew deep down that Light was right and chances are you wouldn't have been able to bring him to court. But you had to get some kind of lick in on him somehow. Might as well be your last howling freaking hurrah. Cutthroat petty sonofabitch, that's why you wrote down your name, isn't it? So you could go out on your own terms.

"Let's not kid ourselves here, you'd have never caught him without our help. And unlike you Mr. Yagami won't let people die on his watch if he can help it, even if saving them meant he'd end up proving himself wrong about Light. There's no way he'd have let you die in vain. You knew that, didn't you? Oh you know everything, or so we thought. It must've been a piece of cake pressuring him and the guys to go with your lousy plan, using your own life to play hard ball and making a martyr of yourself. All you could have done to improve your argument was bring a big fucking cross with you and nail yourself to it.

"Forget trust and respect, I don't know how they even stand you after what you've done to them."

"All right, you've made your point well enough. You've sprayed it thick enough on my face. Now you're turning purple in yours," L deadpanned, reaching up to wipe his cheeks away from his mouth and nose with his sleeves. His ego had reached such massive heights that he suddenly wanted to take the liberty to tell me when I should breathe and to please stop spitting in his face or he might catch my idiot germs. Oh, he hadn't heard nothing yet. "Oxygen deficiency. Unless you wish to pass out, I think you need to—"

"FUCK you!"

Whap!

"Fuck you, I've made my point!" God, was I crazy. I seized him by the shoulders so I could squeeze hell out of them. I just about wanted to pop him like a bloated throbbing zit.

Like all those times before, L turned to stone. Like he knew how I felt and was bracing for it, his bangs draping over his face like a shade. He was probably preparing to kick me too. In a way I don't know if I could blame him. Maybe I'd have wanted to kick me too if I was in his place? I was batshit crazy.

But then, so was he. So was Light and Misa and maybe everyone else too.

My whole being rattled with every sob I heaved, and since I was holding on to him so tightly I thought I could see him trembling with me. "You two played a stupid game that didn't need to be played, that cost hundreds—thousands of lives we can't get back. But you don't care about that, do ya? It was such a priority to you that you guys couldn't be bothered with what happened to the rest of us little people getting caught in the crossfire. You get what you want, fuck the rest of us. But what did you get out of it anyway? Light, 'the god of the new world,' is now rotting in a hole somewhere and you'll be joining him. So what was it all for then? What did they all die for, what did Watari die for? WHERE'S THE JUSTICE YOU GUYS WERE JABBERING ABOUT?" 

God, what a horrible way to put it. But wasn't it the truth?

The whole time I screamed at him I kept waiting in the back of my mind for a smooth rebuttal, some kind of justification for everything. I even expected him to call me out on my "fallacious reasoning" when I said, "I'm sick of feeling sorry for you. I'm sick of being scared of you. I'm sick of you. Both of you. You're just like him. You call yourself justice...but all I see in front of me is a monster, a pathetic hypocritical psychopathic brat that makes up whatever sounds good at the time so you always have an excuse to do whatever you want. You made that abundantly clear when we were messing with Yotsuba; I just made the mistake of thinking you could move past that. This wasn't about saving anybody, this was about satiating your fucking egos. Well lemme tell ya something right here and now you little punk-ass twerp: I don't care if you're the world's greatest detective and I don't care about your goddamn screensaver. Because that's all those are, a title and a screensaver. Take those away, t-take your money, your thugs, the notebook, the shinigami, people like me and Misa and Watari and Mr. Yagami and Matsuda, this whole lousy building away and what have ya got left?

"Nothing. Nothing but another trash-digging bum living under a bridge someplace screwing yourself with stolen restaurant spoons that no one would give the time of day to, never mind listen to what you say. Either that or locked up in a padded cell with a straitjacket. Yeah, that's what you are, y-you're just a bum with the mental capacity of a brain and stomach in pickle jars that got lucky somehow, only now your luck's run out. One of the saddest stupidest most repulsive self-entitled over-glorified bums anyone in this whole wide world would ever have the misfortune of meeting, and that's all you'll ever be. You and him, poor delusional dumb bastards! God, if you'd have ended up outright joining forces with the guy we'd have been better off."

It can't get much worse than having somebody you care about call you a stupid good-for-nothing bastard on your deathbed either.

Still nothing.

Somehow his silence only added fuel to the fire. It's funny, I hated it when he'd prattle on the way he did but looking back on it now I think I hated it more when he was silent. Confirming nothing but denying nothing at the same time. It almost seemed as if he didn't even have a temper, which I figured was untrue because his scraps with Light proved otherwise.

Then again, don't you have to actually give a shit to have one of those to lose?

Besides he didn't answer to anyone or anything, especially not to inferior lifeforms like us.

"Oh why the hell am I wasting my breath? You're not listening. You've never listened, why should you start now? If it ain't something tooth-rotting it's no business of yours. That's the only way I can think of as to how you could let all those people die for nothing, how you could torture Misa and Mr. Yagami and make them watch Light die...I bet their crying must've annoyed you too. She was right about you. Sohelpme, she was right about you. You are a creep. Fuck everything I said before; Light's the only 'friend' a toxic piece of shit like you needs and deserves."

By that point his face had become so blurry to me it looked like the room was going up in smoke. It might as well have.

"I—I still can't figure out why you'd wanna die by yourself. Why anyone would."

This is the same kid who wanted to sleep in the same bed the other night. Because you were lonely? Now why're you sending me away before you die…?

"'Less you've got this lousy idea that it'll make it that much easier for you to keep telling yourself you were right if you didn't have us around you to whine anymore..."

Just like Light. Did he die truly believing he was doing the right thing, or was he just trying to ward off the guilt muddling his final thoughts?

"But if that's what you want…"

I hoisted him up to my level with his shirt collar balled up in my fists—

"THEN BE MY GUEST, DIRTBAG! You always had to have it your own backassward way anyhow! I hope this was fucking worth it! I hope you find Light again wherever the fuck you're going so you can jerk each other off for the rest of eternity and the rest of us don't have to see your sorry asses again in this life or the next one! I hope it'll be the best fucking thing that's ever happened to you and you shit your pants in sheer happiness ya goddamn selfish slimy motherfucking phony prick prick PRICK!" 

I was barely aware of the sting shooting up my arm from slapping both sides of my hand across his face an uncounted number of times or the bang of steel to plastic that resounded as soon as I threw him back into the chair, toppling both to the floor.

And he let me do it. He didn't even make a peep. I'm sure he could have stopped me at any time before I even made contact. He probably could have snapped my wrist, dislocated my shoulder, tossed me off my feet and cracked my back against the floor before I even knew what'd happened. Not that I totally wanted him to do that but it goes without saying that I wasn't thinking too clearly then. Either way, he just sat there and took all of it with this dumbass empty look on his face that wasn't at all like him. Or at least, not the L I'd been led to believe existed. Maybe it was because I was a girl or something but you can never be sure when it comes to folks like L.

For the longest time he stayed on his side with his head down and a hand over his face, curled over himself like a wounded animal or something. With no response from him I only had sobbing to keep that damned silence away. I didn't even know what I was bawling about anymore. My ears and the room still rang with my words and my head felt ready to explode off my shoulders. Suddenly the air became filled with fire.

Say something. 

But even if I'd beat on him any more, would it have changed anything? I doubt it. He would still be the same L I hated for all I was worth. He would still die. That didn't even take into account the possibility of his returning the favor. I'd hit Light and he'd still tried to kill us.

It wasn't worth it. He wasn't worth it. He wasn't worth any more than a couple backhanded slaps to the face, he was lucky I thought him worth at least that much.

Why won't you answer me? You always got one on hand so where is it? Answer me, goddamn you! Look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong. Come on, get up and hit me back you weenie! If this were Light saying all this shit you'd have shoved your toes up his nose by now! 

What're you afraid of, that the guys might walk in and see you? That didn't seem to stop you before. They already hate your guts and so do I. What have you got left to lose? Ain't you got any fight left? Or did you fake that like you faked everything else? Goddamn cheap toilet paper tiger!

Say something. Do something. Anything. Please.

I wouldn't look at him anymore. Just when I was starting to think he'd already decided I wasn't worth an answer and shut me out…he finally gave his response.

Not one I'd expected from him, either. Like I could have any real expectations.

Slowly he pulled himself up using the desk and got off the floor, first to put the chair back upright, then to stand in front of me and make me look at him. I don't know if he was trying to hold my face or what but he went too far down and sort of held my neck instead. That got my attention. For some reason in the darkest corner of my mind I wondered if he might try to strangle me or something because I'd slapped him around and called him the S-word and all. I didn't have any real reason to think this; he'd never seemed that crazy. I'd called him stupid so many times in so many variations but each time he hadn't reacted. Not like this. He wasn't really squeezing my neck either, just cupping it in his hands.

But after everything that had happened I thought it anyway as my eyes locked back into his dull abysmal ones for God knows how long. Nine-and-a-half times out of ten you couldn't tell what the hell he wanted, not right off the bat. On reflex my hands shot up to grasp his wrists and I felt something cold and smooth.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed something on his left wrist, something I hadn't noticed before.

A broken watch. Like the one Light had.

I froze as soon as I saw it. What was L doing with Light's watch? Was he wearing it as some kind of sick trophy or—

He smiled.

I had never ever seen him smile the whole time I knew him before this. I don't think any of us had seen so much as a smirk from him. Yet there it was in plain view. That was the first and last smile I saw on his face. I had to squint beyond the fog of tears just to make sure I was seeing a real live smile and not a mirage. It was a tiny smile, and oddly serene coming from the guy behind it. Almost child-like. I'll never forget that smile.

In a way it disturbed me, because for all of its apparent gentleness it was also tired and broken. As if it hurt him to smile, like all that junk food he had ever eaten caught up to him then in a massive toothache and the way his cheeks looked all red and puffy like salmon meat from when I'd struck him that might as well have been the case. It made him look brittle and beaten, like he had just accepted a dark ugly truth that he probably had known deep down all along, long before I or anyone else had chewed up three or four minutes of our time pounding it into him. The look he had on, you'd have thought I'd just busted up his nose but he was smiling through the pain anyway. Even the rings carved under his eyes looked deeper and darker than I'd ever seen them.

The smile of someone dying.

I can't describe it any better than that.

Then he did something else.

He kissed me.

After I'd just slapped him and told him that I hope he shits his pants and other things. It was like having a wild animal come at you and you're expecting it to rip your face off (and not that I'm an expert but let's be fair, most animals won't try to rip your face off unless you did something to piss them off first), only to have it lick it instead. And you're so confused and scared witless by the whole thing you can't think of anything to do except stand totally frozen in place.

It wasn't much: on the cheek, feathery, almost as child-like and innocent as his smile—a very twisted innocence but I don't have any other name for it—that made a slight smacking noise when he pulled away. He always had a noisy mouth.

But boy, it sure didn't feel like "not much." Long after he'd pulled away the kiss burned worse than any of my tears, a burning that crept down my face and neck to disintegrate the rest of my insides. Like all that sugar had turned his mouth to acid.

There was no headline for that either. Headlines didn't matter much to me anymore, by that point. That kiss killed me dead. That's all I can say.

Did he get that from Misa? Kissing on the cheek?

"A blunt if hammy assessment," he muttered when he pulled away, but keeping close enough for our foreheads to touch. "But then…that's one of the things I've always liked about you. In fact, that's one of the few things that I haven't lied to you about. I sentenced Kira to death and solved the case, like I said I would do in the beginning. But I wagered and sacrificed many lives in the process. Maybe I wagered too many, some of which that weren't even meant to be sacrifices. And in the end, I still couldn't save Light. So, yes. We have indeed won nothing. We lost. I lost."

I lost. Plain English and yet I can't begin to tell you how foreign those two little words, one syllable each, sounded coming from him.

I thought I could feel stubby-nailed thumbs stroke under my eyes like they were trying to dry my cheeks. "If you expect me to have something more to say for myself, I'm afraid I don't…except that I'm sorry."

Make that the seventh time. The seventh and the last. Suddenly his eyes didn't look as dull or empty as before but had gotten softer. Too soft.

Before I knew it, his hand had inched from my neck to the back of my head to cradle it in the hollow of his shoulder. The other rested on my back to hold me against him as he slumped over me. I probably taught him that. Hugging, I mean.

Suddenly I had no idea what to say, how to feel, what to think of it all. I really didn't. I was lost. I wanted to tell him to get away from me, how dare you pull this after everything you've done, can't you do anything the way you're supposed to, no you're not sorry, if you really were sorry you wouldn't have done all this shit in the first place and if you think getting all lovey-dovey with me or whatever this is supposed to be will excuse you even slightly you're even more out of your mind than I thought.

But something about the quiet helplessness tingeing his voice kept any replies from solidifying in my head—whatever was left of it that wasn't currently splitting with pain—never mind leaving my mouth. And even if I did have anything else to say I'm not sure if I could have. All that screaming and ranting and sobbing had scrubbed my throat raw.

L was a lot of things but helpless had never been one of them, not to me. Not until now.

I breathed in his cotton scent while I still could, pressed my cheek against his surprisingly warm neck to feel his pulse flutter against it, stray strands of his hair tickling my face like mosquito bites. My hands were splayed across his chest and I could feel the faint beat of his heart throbbing against my palms. Reality fell back on me then like I'd taken a two-by-four to the back of the head.

This kid is gonna die. To think that this pulse'll be all gone soon…you stupid kid, you're gonna die soon. How could you? 

I hate you. I hate you. I love you so much. 

I wish I could've squeezed that last part in somewhere while I'd chewed him out. Even though I was the one bawling and hollering my head off this whole time, I have to wonder: which one of us was actually hurting more?

When I started up crying again, L patted my back in that cautious way of his. "I know this doesn't change anything and I doubt you're in any mood right now to do favors for me, but listen. Mine may be running out, but you still have so much time ahead of you. Please, make the most out of it when you leave here. Okay?"

I answered him with an incoherent sob as my arms wrapped around him, my good arm doing most of the work to squeeze him as tightly as possible. Any tighter and I probably could've fixed his spine. Or broke it worse than it already was.

For a monster, it never quite occurred to me how thin he really was. There wasn't much to him physically; whatever muscle he did have was probably concentrated in his legs. And from the feel of them, his arms. His limbs were big compared to the rest of him.

He half-tucked my head underneath the angle of his jaw. I thought I could feel him shiver again. "I believe in you."

Translation: none needed.

Aizawa was right. L always did have to have the last word.

Speaking of, he and the others were already at the door by the time L had pulled away. Well, Mr. Yagami wasn't there, though it didn't take a genius to figure why. He was probably back with his wife and little girl right now trying to help them, and himself, come to grips with the reality that their son and brother was never coming home again.

The hurt and anger etched into Aizawa's face this time was dull and burning, his head half-shaking in disgust. Mogi seemed caught between the two, his own affect looking stonier than before. Like me, they had nothing else to say to L. Or whatever they might have wanted to say, I'd probably beaten them to the punch.

Matsuda's face, his eyes were so puffy and red, I could tell he'd been crying for a fairly long time and showed few signs of stopping. He moved up to meet me, just to stand there and look at me with a trembling lip. Like he was afraid to touch me.

"Erin, I—"

"There's no need to apologize here, Mr. Matsuda. Go. Take her home. It would be a problem if you missed the plane. Ah, that reminds me."

I don't know what he was doing with my hat up until that point (so that's where it'd gone), but we wordlessly watched him shuffle back to the desk to return with it pinched in his fingers. It scarcely registered to me as he placed it on my head as delicately as possible. With the brim up out of my face.

"I told you that you'd get a headache. Mr. Aizawa, have you got your aspirin on hand? Please give her some with water before you reach the airport."

There are friends who've got your back no matter what. Then there are friends who stab you in said back. Somehow, L managed to be both types.

Sliding his hands into his pockets, he stepped back to look me over one more time. Almost as abruptly as it'd appeared, L's smile faded away like a crease in the sand washed away by the tide. His question-mark slouch seemed to grow more pronounced than from a minute ago, like a huge invisible weight had fallen on his shoulders about to crush him into dust. Or if it'd always been there, it'd just gotten heavier.

He passed a long, forlorn glance our way before turning away, like suddenly he couldn't look any of us in the eye anymore. He murmured towards the floor, "Good-bye…Erin. Thank you, for everything. Thank all of you for everything. Take care. And Merry Christmas."

Thanks? What did he mean by "thank you for everything?" He didn't specify. And I didn't ask. I was too busy handling the shock of hearing L use my real name for the first—and last—time in what felt like ever.

With a shaky nod, Matsuda bit his lip and reached over to very gingerly guide me away by my shoulder, like he was afraid even that much would snap my arm off. Stupid, I let him escort me out, though not without looking back at L. I watched him until the door swished shut in my face, like an automatic curtain drawing over him. And even after that, I watched the door until we left that hallway entirely.

I didn't wave or anything. Didn't even say good-bye back. None of us did. I just watched him disappear out of my life almost as abruptly as he'd entered it, neither of which I'd had a say on.

Last I'd ever see of him he was squatted back in his chair, shrunken and huddled over his cake and his back to us. I saw him add an extra large slice to his plate.

…

Only when the HQ melted into permanent obscurity among the skyscrapers in the rear-view, did I realize that I never said sorry for anything I'd said or done back there. The one time I didn't say sorry for what I'd said, I should've. I should've told you that I hadn't meant it like that, L. Oh God, I should've.

But that's the terrible part. I did. I did mean it. I meant every word I said, exactly as I said them. The last time I'll ever make that mistake again.

I wonder: between all of us, which one of us here was the biggest loser, L?


	28. Faith

"...Grant us the...Serenity to accept things we cannot change,/ Courage to change the things we can, and the/ Wisdom to know the difference;/ Patience for the things that take time,/ Appreciation for all that we have, and/ Tolerance for those with different struggles;/ Freedom to live beyond the limitations of our past days, the/ Ability to feel your love for us and our love for each other, and the/ Strength to get up and try again even when we feel it is hopeless."

-Reinhold Niebuhr, circa 1934

"To err is human, to forgive divine." 

-Alexander Pope, An Essay on Criticism, 1711

…

"What's that?"

"Huh?"

"That. Th—that notebook. What are you doing with that thing?" Just from seeing the dog-eared spiral notebook in his hands, it feels like I've taken a baseball to the face. I have to grip the doorway just to keep on my feet, to keep from falling apart again.

I'm shaking like a bastard.

Taking no notice of my distress, Farley throws me this stupid look when he looks up from the wrinkled, ink-blotted pages. He's holding a dangerous confidential record in his idiot hands—he's probably read it, too—and doesn't even know. "Uh…reading it?"

"Where'd you get it? Where the hell did you get it?"

I don't like the way he hesitates in his answer. In the end, though, he shrugs. "From your room, I guess. I'll give it right back—"

I don't want to hear it. Throwing the benefit of the doubt into the shredder, I sprint across the space between my brother and me and pin him to his bed by his wrists. I lean in so close to his face that the tip of my nose almost touches the oily tip of his. "What the hell were you doing in my room?" I howl at him. "In my room, of all places! What the hell were you doing in there?"

Farley bites his upper lip and squints at me; he looks like he's going to piss himself. "Whoa, hey, whoa! God, Erin, what's your prob—"

He doesn't finish. By the way he scrunches up his face, I can tell he's biting his tongue before he can ask what really shouldn't be asked. Not unless he wants a bloody nose or a hockey-player smile; I can be nice enough to let him pick.

I dig my nails into his wrists and earn a slight wince out of him. I'll pummel him. I'll pummel him, I swear to God, I'll—

"What were you doing in my room?" I ask heatedly.

"Nothing! Honest to God, nothing. I just went in there to borrow the plug to your laptop, 'cause I lost the plug to mine and it really needed charging…and well, one thing led to another—"

It kills me to hear him defend himself. He sounds so innocent and all, for an older brother. What kills me is that he really is innocent, in a way. Or stupid. Or both. I don't quite know where the line for that is, anymore.

I won't let go of him, though. "Why didn't you ask me for it, then? Why go in my damn room behind my back?"

Farley tries to shrug in the position I've got him pinned in. "You weren't home. I didn't think you'd mind too much." The lamest excuses are always saved for family.

My breathing becomes more labored, just to keep my brain from blowing out the back of my head. "You went in there for a plug and came out with a notebook. My notebook. Jesus Christ, Fart-ley, that's gotta be the sloppiest load of PS I've ever heard out of you. Are you sure you're the older one?"

Farley flashes his donkey-grin at me. I haven't called him Fart-ley in quite a long time. With family, you never completely grow up, no matter how old you get. "Yes. Yes, that's exactly what happened."

But let's get serious, here.

I lean in deadly-close to his moron face again. "Please…tell me that you didn't read a single word in there. Please…"

I'm pleading, aren't I? I'm begging. I'm praying.

"Okay. I didn't read a single word."

My grip on his wrists begins to relax. Until—

"I read every single word. Just reached the last one when you came in," Farley adds with a goofy grin.

I give my brain no time to fully process his reply when I let go of one of his wrists to swing a trembling fist high over our heads. "RAAAUGH, you asshole!" 

It's over. No one was supposed to know, but now someone does; my loudmouth brother, no less. I'm such an idiot, it's a blue-eyed wonder that I know how to breathe.

And Farley's an idiot for pointing this out to me.

Farley takes advantage of the partial freedom I've granted him to cup his hand over my fist before I can bring it down. "Hey, hey, easy! You don't want to break your hand again, do ya? It's not my fault I'm totally enthralled by my baby sister's work, no matter how crazy it is. So sue me."

My fists unclenches almost as quickly as I'd made it, and before I know it, I'm hunched over my brother with my face buried in my arm, choking up like I always seem to do. These days, I'll choke up over spilled milk. Literally. Just watch me. Or better yet, don't. Please don't.

Farley's face softens as he takes advantage of my weakness to gently push me off of him. "I'm sorry. I must've set you back a couple weeks, huh? Dr. Johnson's probably not gonna be happy," he chuckles, only to pause when he notices that I won't peel my arm off of my face, no matter how badly I want to. The lump in my throat won't budge, no matter how many sobs erupt from under it.

He reaches out a cautious arm to drape it over my shoulders. "What's wrong, Erin?" he asks. "Why're you getting so bent out of shape over a notebook?"

I rip my arm off of my face like I'm ripping fly paper off of it to glare at him. I sniff in reply, "Why am I getting bent out of shape? Why wouldn't I get bent out of shape? You think it's okay to look through my shit whenever the mood strikes you?"

"Huh?"

I fumble for the dumb notebook lying on the floor and hug it to my chest like a breastplate. "Pl-please, tell me you haven't shown this to Mom and Dad. Please. Oh please, please tell me you haven't…"

"Uh…no?"

"Are you just saying that?" I snap.

"No, Erin, I mean it, this time! I swear to God, I haven't shown it to them. As far as I know, it's only been me."

I hold the notebook even tighter, until I can feel my own heartbeat drum out of my fingertips. "Well, don't. Don't tell them. I—I don't want them to see it. I don't want anyone to see it. You weren't even supposed to see it."

Farley sounds genuinely confused. "What? Why would you write such a great story and not even want to share it? That's not like you. You don't think it's good enough? Well, even if it's just crazy-ass fiction, I think it deserves to be published! It could be the next big thing since Twilight™, for Christ's sake! For another self-insert, it might actually be better!"

Fiction. I cringe when I hear that label roll off his tongue. As much of a relief it is to hear him dismiss it as such, I cringe, anyway. "Fiction" is all this story will ever be to him. That's all it will be to the rest of the world, and that's if I'd wanted to share it, in the first place.

And to call it a "self-insert," on top of it, Jesus Christ.

"You might want to do something about the ending, though," Farley criticizes, stroking his chin. "I found it kind of brutal, especially coming from you."

I purse my lips so he can't see me grit my teeth. You don't think I want to? You think I don't want to change what happened? 

I stay silent. It's not really his fault. He doesn't have a clue. I don't want him to have a clue; not him, not anybody.

"Also, you might want to change some of the characters' names. You know, to avoid getting in trouble? I'm not sure if it's a good idea to go around claiming that you know L or Kira, never mind both. That's just too out there, even for you."

I finally get the stones to look him square in the eye, my own stinging like hell. Even if I'd wanted to share it, I would never change the names. "Who said I was gonna publish this, anyhow? I thought I told you, I don't want anyone to read this. It's…too personal. I don't want people to read something I wrote while I was crazy…"

"But aren't all the good works the crazier ones? Where'd you come up with all of this, anyhow? Did you base any of this on when you were in Japan?"

I almost have a heart attack when he says this. After about a minute, I'm still alive. It's incredible, how easily life is lost, like sand castles to the tide or balloons to the wind. It's horrible.

I huff, "I told you, I was crazy. That's all I have to say. I wrote it strictly for myself. God, please, Farley, I—I don't wanna talk about it, anymore. And I don't want you to mention this to anyone. Anyone. For any reason."

Farley looks even more perplexed than before. Then, a squirrely grin screws up his face. "Ohhh, I get it." He points at the notebook. "I'm no shrink, but this is some kind of therapeutic thing to work out your issues over…you know…what happened to your friends over in Japan. Huh?"

In a way, I should be grateful that my brother's kind of thick in the skull. In another, I feel so sorry for him when he says that, almost as sorry as I feel for myself, maybe more. No matter how I rationalize it, I'm lying to him. I've fabricated a pile of bald-faced pigeon shit for him and everyone to cover my ass. Mine and the asses of everyone who'd ever been involved in the case.

The sacrifices made in the name of journalism. And friendship.

What makes it worse is that they're buying it. I've always been a lousy liar, but they're buying it, anyway. The truth is just…too much.

I suddenly can hardly look him in the eye when I think about that, how I'm lying to him. I settle for staring down the bridge of my nose instead, as I hug the notebook even tighter, to keep my heart from tearing out of my chest. Every day for the rest of my life, I have to lie to my family, my friends, and everyone I'll ever meet.

All for your sake, L. Yours and Light's. I hope you're happy, wherever the hell you are.

"Yeah. Yeah, you…you could say that. I…I had a dream. No, a nightmare. About them. Ryuga was L, and Light was Kira. I dunno why, but that's who they were. In my dream. I wrote the whole thing down to help me get it outta my system. Sort of like…keeping a dream journal."

"Is that right? That would explain why this is more disturbing than what you usually write."

"That's why I don't want people to read it," I mumble, squeezing my eyes shut before tears start falling. I've cried far too much, already. "It's too personal. I was crazy. Can we just not talk about it, anymore?"

I have to wonder despite me: L, did you ever feel this way whenever you lied through your teeth? For you, that would've been all the time, wouldn't it?

Farley draws me into a hug, the awkward kind that only siblings can share. He's almost as lousy at giving comfort as I am, but isn't it the thought that counts? "Whatever will help you get better, sissy," he mutters. He's still confused as hell—as he'll always be—but he's making the smart decision of dropping it. For now, anyway. "If it really means that much to you, I won't say a word." To prove his loyalty, he extends a pinkie to me. The pinkie-swear: the ultimate covenant, after a blood oath.

"At least you've still got that wild imagination. Journalist or not, you just wouldn't be you without it. Just…don't let it control you too much. Okay? We don't want to send you off to the unit permanently, I hope you know that."

I stare at his pinkie for about two minutes before slowly extending my own. As our pinkies lock and the deal seals, Farley pecks the top of my head. "This Kira crap's gonna blow over eventually. It's been a while since he stopped killing criminals; the world's pretty much gone back to its normal crappy self. It'll only be a matter of time before they stop talking about him altogether and focus on more worthwhile things, like Hannah Montana™. It'll be like he never existed. I think that's something to look forward to, don't you think?"

Like he never existed. 

I don't think he has any idea how cutting those words are to me. I wonder if Light is turning over in his grave, knowing that he killed all of those people, guilty or innocent, for nothing. I don't know if the shinigami have found something else to occupy them or something—heavy imagination required—but from what I can understand, no new notebooks seem to have been dropped into the human world. At least, not in my earshot.

No matter how horrible Light's crimes were, it only makes it worse that the world's not going to learn anything from it and just…move on. The members of the task force are the only ones who know what'd happened: a burden shared equally among us. It's like the evil that Light said he was trying to destroy had only been masked when Kira emerged, only to burst back into bloom now that he's gone.

I don't think that word's got out that L is gone, either. I can only imagine what kind of hell that would rise if society knew that they've lost their ace.

Just an ace, an ace with a goddamn letter on a computer screen for a face and scrambler for a voice. A sort of poltergeist who held boundless control over police forces all over the globe. A mad motherfucker who was into those cases involving scores of dead people or millions of dollars. I can't say that these pictures are completely false, but what hurts is that that's all he'll be remembered as by everyone who didn't know him. That would be just about everyone on the planet.

Not even as a person.

(I'm not sure if I could say that I even knew him that well, never mind how long I'd lived with him. I mean it. Sometimes, when he crosses my mind, I have to ask myself: who was that yahoo? I doubt I'll ever find a complete answer to that.)

For all I know, they've probably found some new shmuck to fill in his shoes, to keep whatever little peace society can still get—don't ask me who "they" are, exactly; I don't even know. The ICPO? The CIA? Maybe the Japanese police, since they'd know that anything had happened to him. Unless my friends at the task force decided to just keep it a secret, like they decided not to disclose Kira's real identity or the fact that he's gone.

They probably didn't even bother to try covering it up. L is an urban legend more than anything. No one on the outside is even sure if L really exists, and even if he did, he's hard to get in touch with. Only took on cases he found worth his while, they say. I don't know. I'm just speculating here. As if I can do anything else.

I can't imagine where the hell they'd find someone who could, though. Fill in L's shoes, I mean. L didn't even wear shoes. Or socks, for that matter. The last person who might have had what it took to do it died with him, like he once said that they would.

"Yeah." That's all I can say, and even then, it comes out very strained. Like I'm being strangled, almost. I lean into Farley's embrace. In a very weird way, I suddenly feel just a mite closer to him than I have felt to him—or anyone, for that matter—in almost a year since I'd come home. Because even if I hadn't intended him to, he's seen the truth. Never mind if he'll never know it.

"So…you won't tell?" I ask him one more time. I'm practically pleading with him.

"I'm bound by the sacred pinkie-swear not to tell."

"Good."

…

I squeeze my eyes shut so I don't start crying again. I can't cry anymore about it, not even in front of him. "I love you, Farley. I'm sorry. I'm...sorry I tried to k—maim you over this thing."

I mean it. I mean it with all the heart and soul in me.

My words are so out of left-field, Farley doesn't respond right away. Not that I can really blame him. I don't say those three words nearly enough, especially to the ones who deserve to hear them. But I'll always mean them when I say them, and not just in the heat of the moment. I still scrap and bicker like I always have; that has to be one of the few things about me that haven't changed that much.

But I'll always try to make up afterwards, no matter how petty the argument. If there comes a time—

No. I'm not kidding myself about that, anymore.

When there comes a time that I'll lose someone I care about, I don't want my last words to them to be something I can never take back, no matter how much I'd want to.

"I'm sorry" isn't something to toss around will-nill either, for that matter. Ever since I got sick, all I've done is worry my folks to almost the brink of insanity. I hate doing this to them. They've done nothing to warrant it.

...

Is it even right to call it "sick," though? Usually when people use the term, they're implying that they've got some kind of inconvenient malady that can hopefully be cured, like the flu or something. Like it's just temporary suffering.

I just don't want to be so helpless, anymore. I'm sure I'm not the only one.

Eventually, Farley presses his cheek against my temple, his peach fuzz irritating the hell out of it. The itch has never felt more welcome. "Me too, sissy. You've got nothing to be sorry for. It's Kira who ought to be sorry."

Maybe. And maybe, in a way, he was sorry when he left us. But was he sorry for what he did, or for failing at what he tried to do? Maybe a little of both?

L, did you die feeling that way, too? Like a failure?

…

I should've guessed that someone was going to find and read the story if I ever chose to put it down on paper. In a way, I should be grateful that that someone turned out to be just Farley, and not someone less gullible. Someone who would've pressed more for answers. Someone like me.

Or worse, someone like L.

But God, I hope he won't talk about it. Not only would I look bad, but he would, too, just for talking about it. I hope he knows at least that much.

In a sense, I wasn't totally lying to him. For instance, the only reason I'd ever decide to record the story anywhere at all was for me. I just couldn't find any better way of coping. I'd already tried sweeping it under a rug and just forgetting about it—I can't do anything about it and I can't talk about it, and that's even if I wanted to. Even if I'd wanted to, no one would believe me. I have no proof to show for it except for a couple rotten memories.

It seems that Ryuk and his shinigami friends haven't dropped any notebooks into the human world since Light died, because criminals stopped dying soon afterwards. None have died, since. The world has gone back to…normal? Can I call it normal? What is "normal," anyway?

That doesn't mean they don't still talk about Kira, though. About a year after he jumped off the face of the earth, he still has his believers: people who were, whether I agree with them or not, saved by Light's global domination scheme.

"He's just resting. He'll return soon. The second coming of Kira will usher in a new era!" Or something along those lines. Kira's just about becoming the new Jesus, with his own religion and all the bells and whistles: talk shows, massive cult followings…it's only a matter of time before they start circulating a lousy Bible in his honor. I can see it now: they'll be going door-to-door with the thing.

…

What do you know, Light? I guess in a sense, you got what you wanted, after all. You're a god, now.

Are you happy?

…

All I can do at this point is try to move on. Like it'd never happened. Go back to the way my life was before I met L, before I'd ever heard of Kira, before I'd even ever left for Japan.

Moving on has been tougher than I expected. Then again, whatever gave me the idea that it'd be easy to just walk away? You can sweep the demons under the rug, but that doesn't mean they'll go away. They just sit there, fester, and pile up to the point where you start tripping over them all the time when you're forced to cross them. And when you think you've outsmarted them by stepping around, they shoot for your ankles.

They never mention this in the movies, not even in the ending after everything's been said and done.

I remember when I first saw New York stretched out beneath me when the plane dove in for the landing. After spending too many months away from the country I was born in, the city I grew up in, I would think that I'd be bouncing out of my seat like a toddler on a sugar run to finally see it again.

But I didn't. New York looked exactly as it had when I'd left it…but at the same time, it looked different, somehow. I can't explain why it looked different, it just did. It felt like I was touching down in a whole new world entirely. A strange world. A mad world. Like looking into a reflection in a broken mirror. Imagine feeling like you're in a strange land right when you're touching down in your own country, your own city, your home. What a horrible feeling.

Though…was it really the changes at home that made me feel so alienated from it? Or was it me that had changed? Or both?

I almost didn't leave the plane altogether, when the passengers started filing out in that semi-chaotic way people do after spending four or five hours in a cramped aircraft with just a little aisle of five feet in width to work with. I sort of just stayed in my seat gawking out the window while everyone else shoved and pushed and clonked each other—and themselves—with their baggage. I don't even know what I was gawking at. At nothing, I guess. I thought maybe I'd see you there, L. You and Light. So I could tell you what I didn't get to.

Several people tapped on my shoulder and asked me to shake a leg so they could get the hell out of the plane, already. Their words shook me out of my trance, just enough so I could say, "Oh no, it's okay. Go on ahead. I'm waiting for everyone else to go out first." So I stayed in my seat while everyone else cleared out, though not so much out of politeness as I did it because I was busy looking for the sensation to move.

Once everyone else had cleared out, I was left as the last in line. Being the last in line sucks, and not just because you have to wait the longest to get somewhere. I'd always found something weirdly uncomfortable about standing there with a guy having his back turned to you, completely disinterested in what you're up to, while you have nobody watching your back in the meantime and you don't know what to say, if anything, that can break the ice. But right then, I couldn't remember another time when I hated that feeling more. I just felt so damn lonesome.

L, did you ever feel like that, like you were always the last in line? It was probably worse for you, because you had nowhere to go. No one waiting for you.

Despite the AC humming overhead, I headed for the gate like I were crossing a barren desert, lips dry and mind even dryer. It almost felt like all these people bustling around me were nothing but mirages, like they'd turn to dust in the wind if I so much as reached out to touch someone.

Seeing the entire tribe waiting by the gate, all smiles, with Farley waving a cardboard sign with the name "Blogger" over his head? Doubly so.

I wanted to run to them, run to them like I'd never run before in my life, but I couldn't do it. I just walked. No, not even walked; I trudged, as though I were walking through a tar pit. I was afraid. I was afraid they wouldn't be there when I'd reach them, that they would disappear, like a trick of the light. My mind seemed to move slower than my body did.

I worked up a smile. It hurt so much to smile, the muscles in my face seemed to pull as if they weren't supposed to pull that way. Before I'd boarded the plane I'd dabbed a little make-up on, just enough to cover the damage on my face without raising any suspicions while trying not to dwell on the irony that the girl who'd taught me everything she could about make-up and looking good had been the one who'd put these bruises on me in the first place.

Farley gave me the courtesy of running up to me instead, Mom and Dad following suit. "Welcome home, sissy!" were the first words he'd said to me, that any of them had said to me, in what felt like an eternity as he spun me around in a bear-hug. "How was it over in the Land of the Seizure-Inducing Commercials? Enjoyed being the dopey foreigner in the rental, for a change?"

"Hope you didn't get into too much trouble over there, Erin," said Dad as he took his turn in holding me. That killed me, how he tried to sound so stern and everything, when his voice trembled with laughter. "Oh, I'm sure you didn't. We probably would've had to call the President at some point, if you did."

You have no idea. You all have no idea. 

I didn't answer them, right away. My bags just dropped to the floor as I circled my arms around him as tightly as possible, even my sore one. I didn't want to lose him again. I didn't want to lose any of them. Dad felt as solid and stocky as I remembered him, but at the same time, that didn't do much to comfort me, for some reason.

In a way, the tighter I held him and Mom and Farley, the more distant I felt from him. From all of them. There aren't many things worse than feeling a thousand miles away from someone you love right while you're holding them and all, especially after having to spend such a long time away from them.

I paused to swallow the lump clogging my throat as I rested my head on Dad's shoulder. "Yeah. You're right. I'm okay, Dad. I'm okay…I'm glad I'm home, where I belong. Japan couldn't handle me as well as New York can…"

I was just rambling, talking for the sake of being able to listen to their voices again. But at the same time, I could hardly say much of anything worthwhile. I was afraid I'd let something slip if I spoke too much.

Farley caught me totally off-guard when he said, "Erin?"

"Huh?"

"What'sa matter? Are you crying?" he snorted.

I didn't want to reach up to touch my face, worried that it would be wet if I did, and because the act itself would indicate that I had started up crying again. When would I stop? Would I ever stop?

I kept my face half-buried in Dad's shoulder, but I tipped the brim of my hat over my face for more cover as I waved a dismissive hand. "Feh. I'm just tired. And homesick. And so overcome with joy that I think I'm going to throw a fit. Enjoy this little movie-moment, Farley; it's not often that we have moments like these, after all."

"No, you're right, Bunny, we don't have many moments like this. Let's relish them," chuckled Mom.

Too bad I couldn't wholeheartedly follow my own advice, or even halfheartedly. I was finally home in my family's arms, on my piece of solid ground, where I belonged.

But at the same time, I couldn't remember ever feeling more alone.

…

Three days after I'd come home, I hadn't slept half a wink, even though I was back in my own cozy, familiar bed, and when I stumbled into the kitchen for breakfast, I couldn't remember another time when I'd felt more exhausted. I was too braindead to remember much of anything. Just like L had said, the shot in my arm had healed up good enough for me to rip the bandages off that night after I came home.

That was the only injury to have healed nicely.

Greedily inhaling the sweet, cozy scent of Dad's pancakes sizzling on the stove like it were oxygen, I relied on it to guide me back to the semi-solid ground of precious reality—to let me know that I truly was home with my family in New York, about to eat pancakes with them—as I eased into my place at the table parallel to Farley. It being Sunday, he was off from his job as student P.E. coach. He was looming over the front page of the paper, his features creased with a frown and knitted brows. The look of somebody reading an obituary.

"Hey," I mumbled with annoyance I didn't really feel. "I thought the rules regarding the paper were that I would get to look through it first."

Farley glanced up from the paper. "G'morning yourself, Princess Sunshine," he replied, his sarcasm affable and typical of an older brother, like it'd always been. Farley, I hope you never change that about you. "Sorry, sissy: you'd been away from home for so long, I sort of haven't been able to give you it. I don't even know if you want to read today's front page; it's a bummer."

I poured myself a glass of orange juice—extra-pulpy, my favorite. "Why? It wouldn't be a headline if it wasn't kind of a bummer."

Farley seemed a little hesitant to push the paper across the table to me, but he did, in the end. "You know that inventor, Quillish Wammy?"

With no reason known to me, my senses flared when I heard that name. In a bad way. I could feel my toes and fingers curl as though they were on fire, even with the ice-cold glass of OJ in my hand. "What about him?" I asked with my straightest face, my tongue pasting to the roof of my mouth with every word that tumbled off of it.

"He croaked a couple days ago," said Farley, spoiling the article for me before I'd even gotten the chance to scan the front page. "Poor guy. Why do all the good guys have to go first? This Wammy dude used the fortune he got from his patents to found orphanages around the world for needy kids. A freaking saint. Apparently, they just buried him in his hometown in Winchester."

That wasn't what killed me when I got a look for myself. Well, it did kill me, hearing about a philanthropist inventor dying and all. Who wouldn't that kill? But when I saw the photo accompanying the article of the old man in question, the crisp scent of fresh newsprint and of the platter of pancakes Dad was setting in front of me suddenly became foul.

The man in the photo…he looked like Watari.

It was Watari. How could I not recognize those wrinkles? That trim white mustache? Those squinty eyes and warm, paternal smile?

His grey, dead face sprang out of the page, all that I could see in that one moment.

Watari…Quillish Wammy…Watari is Wammy…Watari was Wammy…

He founded orphanages around the world…he raised and supported L for his whole life…

L, were you raised in one of those orphanages? 

The task force couldn't have known for themselves that Watari was from Winchester. Neither L nor Watari ever said much about where they came from. Which meant...

It was you, wasn't it? You set it up so that he could be laid to rest at home. You owed him at least that much. 

And what about you? Where will you be laid to rest? Where's your home? 

I was hardly made aware of the sound of glass shattering on the linoleum floor, the sticky juice and pulp dabbing my bare feet, until someone—either Dad or Farley, I wasn't paying attention—cried, "Whoa!"

I blinked myself back to reality. When I noticed that my hand was missing a glass of OJ, I leaned over to find it in a puddle of pulp and shards around my feet.

"Fuck." The first word that came to mind to sum up how I felt about…just about everything.

"Hey, hey, no cussing at the table," Dad chided me. "You'll ruin the pancakes, that way, and Mom isn't even up yet." Mom was usually a busybody, but liked to sleep in on Sundays, since it was "a day of resting" and all.

Keeping my head down, I mumbled an apology to Dad's feet before slinking over to the sink to rip off a couple of paper towels. Like a robot. I might've been home, but my mind had drifted thousands of miles away. Everyone is responsible for what they drop on the floor.

You were an even cooler old man than I ever gave you credit for, Watari. Probably more than most people I know who are a lot younger. Would it have killed me to have treated you with a little more respect?

Once I'd cleaned up my mess as best as I could, I suddenly felt like getting out of the kitchen. My eyes ached, like they were ready to explode in their sockets. When I took my foot off the pedal to the trash bin lid, I stood upright to announce, "I think I should go for a walk."

The whole time I spoke, my eyes stayed trained on the eggshell-white of the wall in front of me. For some reason it started to look kind of grey. Was I going color-blind?

"A walk, now?" Dad said. "But Erin, what about breakfast? You've never opted to not have the first batch on Pancake Day."

What's with all the questions now? 

Even though Dad and Farley were just eight feet behind me, I felt miles away from them. I wanted to feel close to them again, like I did before I'd ever left for Japan. But at the same time, I wished that they'd just leave me alone.

I don't know, I can't explain it any better than that. It made no sense, I know, but that's how I felt.

"I just…need some fresh air. I'm thinking of getting into that: taking a walk in the morning before breakfast. I've found that it helps the appetite. My appetite needs physical stimulation."

To shake out the rock in the stomach.

"Innuendo for the win," noted Farley smugly.

"Shut up."

I could tell from Dad's tone that he was as clueless as Farley, but he let me have my way, in the end. After all, I'd been known to be quite a spontaneous girl, long before I'd left home. "Well, if…that's what you want to do, honey, then go ahead. But you know that my pancakes aren't as good when they go cold."

"Don't worry, Dad. I'll polish them off before it happens," Farley volunteered, not waiting to pull my plate across the table to his side with the syrup poised in his other hand. I was out the door with the hat tucked well over my eyes before he even took that first bite of his second helping.

I spent almost two, three hours meandering around the old neighborhood, trying to drink it all back in, drop in on our neighbors, most of whom had already left for church or some other thing. All around me, life marched on, but even with the usual hustle 'n' bustle, right down to the street vendors pushing their wares down the sidewalks, or the cloud of pigeons fluttering upward in a flourish...it all seemed emptier, somehow.

…

As the months dragged on, it felt like just getting through the motions: breakfast, work, lunch, more work, dinner, bedtime, and plenty of bathroom time in between. I don't know how I managed to get by for even that long, but I did it. But hell, if I could spend half a year wrapped up in the murder case of the century, I could surely get through another half-year weathering out the aftermath.

Living didn't feel so much like living as it felt like just surviving. Not that I was in any grave danger anymore, but it still felt like pure survival. The city that I'd loved and cherished with all of my heart grew into a kind of jungle in a way, where the biggest accomplishment I could achieve here was that I came home in one piece at the end of the day.

Some days I didn't feel like doing anything except embalm myself in the warmth and comfort of my bed and stare out into nothing, either thinking about the Kira case or trying not to think about it. But I couldn't afford such a luxury during the day. I sort of forced myself to keep going through the motions, like some kind of android whose primary objective was only to get to the end of the day so I could lie in bed and spend half the night doing exactly that.

The day I left for the airport, I'd begged Matsuda that if they really can't turn back around, that he at least go back at the first chance he got to tell L that I was sorry, that I didn't mean all that stuff I'd said, not as the way I'd said them. I mean, that I was still his friend and all. I just didn't want to have been the last person to ever see him alive with all that shit I said to him.

Matsuda promised me that he would, but I don't know yet if he got to. I haven't heard from him or from anyone on the team since I went home. Not even from Misa. In a way, maybe it can't be helped. They're detectives who'd had the misfortune of tackling one of the most heinous crimes civilization has ever known or may ever know. I was just someone who'd gotten involved by accident. No matter how tight we'd grown, a long-distance relationship on the outside isn't exactly possible. Is it?

That doesn't stop me from thinking about them all, though. I think about them all the time. I hope that Mogi and Mr. Yagami and Aizawa and their families are doing all right—I mean, as okay as they can do after something like this—and that Matsuda's getting at least a little more respect, and that he's doing all that he can to keep it (which hopefully does not include jumping off of balconies to save his bacon).

I think about Light's dad and everything he'd put himself through just because he'd had so much faith in his son, only to have it all be for nothing. Mr. Yagami, I hope to God that you haven't done something crazy since we'd lost Light. I know that you're stronger than that. I believe you are. You've still got a wife and daughter who need you more than ever.

They'll never know the truth, will they? They'll never see their only son and big brother again, and they'll never know how or why. Which is worse, here: a safeguarding lie, or the truth?

Sometimes I wonder about Yuki and Kyoko, even if I hardly really knew them. And Kiyomi, that old beauty queen. I wonder if she still gives people a hard time if they can't speak her language? Bet so. Maybe she got a job as a news anchorlady or a spokeswoman? I still maintain that she could pull it off. I hope they're all doing well for themselves.

I even wonder what those shysters Aiber and Wedy are up to. They both kind of fell off the radar after Higuchi's death. Hell, sometimes I would find myself wondering what happened to those Yotsuba jerks. The rest of them. Were they all arrested? Did Misa wipe them all out during her brief spree out of revenge for tarnishing Kira's name? Once more, curiosity got the better of me, and as soon as I'd looked them up, I started to wish that I hadn't.

It's a shame that I never got to know any of them, in a way. In spite of what they did, they were still people with families and hopes and dreams, who were just as victimized as any of us.

Misa. Poor Misa. What's she doing, now? Does she even remember me? Regardless, if her memories are all gone like L said that they'd be, I hope that she's working hard to get her life—or whatever's left of it—back on track. I hope she realizes that there is still meaning in this life somewhere, with or without Light, or Kira. I'd told Rem that you'd be okay, that she hadn't turned herself into sand for nothing. Please don't let her down. Please don't make me out to be a liar.

...

It's funny: even though she was the Second Kira, I can't seem to hate Misa nearly as much as I hate Light, for all that he's gone and done. But I'm doing a lousy job at doing even that. Since Light was Kira and everything, I would've thought that I'd hate his guts and be glad that he can't fuck things up any more than he already has. Except…every time I want to hate him, for killing all of those people and hurting so many more—probably more than I am aware of—I see his face. The agonized last face he ever made before drawing his last breath in his father's arms.

I can't hate a face like that. I just can't. Matsuda told me once early on that even though he wasn't sure if Kira was real justice, he couldn't bring himself to totally hate him. Now that I've met Kira, lived with him, laughed with him...I understand what he meant. You're a lot smarter than you're credited for, Matsu.

In a very twisted way, maybe Light was just as much of a victim as the rest of us, to his own monster. When he wasn't Kira, he was a good guy, a bona fide role model, the kind that mothers would want their own kids to grow up to be if they just studied and ate their veggies and talked less and listened more.

Or had it all just been an act? A façade of perfection to hide his own darkness even from himself until it finally got away from him?

Maybe when he didn't have the notebook, he really did love Misa and care about the rest of us? He could've done something spectacular with his life—maybe become real partners with old L—if he just hadn't picked up that goddamn notebook. 

What a waste. What. A. Waste.

But when L seeps into my skull...

I think about how he must've spent those last nineteen days cooped up in that lonesome HQ, stuffing his face and just waiting to die.

…I really don't want to think that that's all he did on his last days. He would've been more productive with his time, like he told me to be with mine. Solving extra cases, maybe? But I can only imagine how that must've felt for him: waiting to die on your own, knowing that you're a loser and there's nothing you can do to change it.

He didn't need me to rub it in.

Light probably had a funeral, and while I wasn't given the chance to attend it, I bet he had plenty of friends and family who did go to see him off. Another blessing that he threw away in his stupid quest to become a god, that magnificent bastard. But L? Except for the task force out of obligation, probably nobody came to his. It's not really even a funeral if nobody comes, come to think of it. It doesn't seem much different than just throwing another useless body into a hole somewhere, only legally. And being nice enough to put him in a goddamn box first and a tombstone over his head. Unmarked, no less.

I don't even know if they buried him. L could've had himself cremated, for all I know, have his ashes scattered on the four winds and whatnot. I can see how he'd want that, sick as it makes me when I think about it. He was one of those guys who would've preferred to destroy any and every piece of evidence of his existence, including a body. He wanted to die beholden to nothing and nobody. That's why he insisted on dying alone.

Either way, what I can do about it?

I think about all the things he never got to do while alive, like go trick-or-treating. Makes me wish I would've pushed a little harder to make him go, if that would've been remotely possible. How can a man, literally, only exist for the sake of detecting and never be destined for anything different? Treat himself and be treated like a stinking computer, or something? A computer measuring murder and money in cold numbers and leaving little crumbs everywhere in his wake.

No. At least some of it had to be his own fault. Maybe not all of it, but some. I refuse to believe that destiny has total control over where one's life ends up. It gives us circumstances, but it's up to us to decide what to do with them, even if we don't really know the consequences our actions produce. He taught me that. It's taken that a while to sink in, but he taught me that. Him and Light.

…

Sometimes—not that it matters much anymore—I wonder if Misa was right, all along. Did L really like me a little more than he'd let on? When he said "two percent," I'd thought it meant he found me worthy enough as a tolerable friend. But did he really mean more? I can't find another reason why he'd kiss me and everything just before I left, God knows I've tried. Misa was probably the first non-relative girl to ever kiss him. But for all I know, I was probably the first non-relative girl he'd ever kissed himself, cheek or anywhere.

I still don't want to think he was jealous, especially of Matsuda. That's just too stupid, even for him. Especially for him. In a way, part of me still doesn't want to believe any of it, that he might've…

God, help me. It still hurts just to think about it. It does. To imagine how he liked me so much—never mind his funny way of showing it—and I wound up treating him like the way I did, before I left him there…

Why did you let me leave you like that? Damn it, why did you make me leave? Then turn around right when I'm about to go away forever and show me how you really felt when I can't do or say anything about it?

Maybe we had a mite more in common than I'd thought? We were both closeted cowards. Maybe we all were, in one sense or another.

And then I hate him all over again. Sometimes I wish I'd never met him, never acknowledged him with so much as a passing glance. Sometimes I wish I'd never even gone to Japan, never heard of Kira, never bumped into Misa and saw Rem, and never ever saw L once in my life. Maybe I wouldn't have said all those things, or at least would've taken that chance to apologize afterwards, if he wasn't such a bastard, a dirty lying selfish spoiled brat who cared more about solving the damn case than for the welfare or feelings of the people who worked with him, suspect or otherwise; he technically kidnapped me, for God's sake—

No. That's not true. Not really. If he really didn't care, why did he save Matsuda's life in spite of his low opinion of him (if it really was in fact low)? Why did he let Aizawa go back to his family? Why did he take care of us when we needed it? Why did he keep offering me tissues whenever I started crying (even if he kind of had something to do with why I'd started crying in the first place)? Why was he wearing Light's broken watch after he'd died? Why did he apologize?

Why?

You should never assume that you 'know' people. They can always catch you unawares, no matter how much time you spend with them.

He saved my life, too, in a way. I have to face it: if L hadn't switched the notebooks before Light had written my name down, I wouldn't even be here today, with my family.

I hate thinking about it, but maybe none of us would've made it out alive if it hadn't been for him. I don't know if I hate thinking about it because I can't accept that Light and Misa would consider just wiping us all out like that (for the greater good?), or because I still don't get how someone could stoop to doing something as terrible as what L did just to save our hides.

I can't even call him a coward in total confidence. A real coward wouldn't admit that he's wrong, that he's a fuck-up, right when it's staring him in the face.

Maybe, in his own screwy way, he did care, more than I'd ever actually credited him for? Like Light, he just wasn't evolved enough to pick friendship over his pride. But I could be wrong about even that. Or at least half-wrong.

He didn't deny it when I'd called him out on it, though…

Maybe he somehow thought he could save Light while solving the case. Eat his cake and have it, too. Maybe he really hadn't intended for us to lose Watari and Light like the way we had when he did it his way? Maybe he liked being L too much to let go of his reputation so he pretended not to care about people to make things easier for himself? The only one who totally understood L's mindset was L himself.

But when it comes down to it, L was only human. Like me. Like Light. Like all of us.

And maybe sometimes the purest and best intentions have the worst action plans? At the same time, a person only interested in conquest can offer a million others security through his actions, but does that make him right?

I hate myself all over again, for being so goddamn helpless. Because you're not supposed to hate friends. I wonder that, sometimes: why I keep calling him a friend after everything he's done to me, and everything I did to him. Why I still call any of the three of them my friends. I'm not sure how to answer that, truthfully. What we had was kind of like what he and Light had, in a way: it didn't make a lick of sense, but it was there.

Anyhow, you shouldn't hate friends, dead or alive. You're supposed to have made good with them before they'd passed on. Something that I never got to do with him face-to-face, and instead of doing, wasting my time wishing that I could be like Misa and just conveniently forget about him and everything. Like there could be a delete button on my memory like the one on my camera. A button that used to be the bane of my existence, but now sounded close to a Godsend.

I think each of us wish we had that button.

…

I got an internship with a big-shot news station, a chance to strut my stuff as a bona fide journalist. It'd been seven months since I'd come home, and I'd been an intern at this station for about two. It started out normally enough…or at least, as normally as it could. I'd hardly slept at all, the night before. I'd kept waking up to the sound of gunshots and screaming and shinigami cackling their heads off. And chest pain.

I felt too braindead to get behind the wheel and deal with traffic, so I walked. It wasn't that far, and I sure could've used the exercise.

When I got to the intersection that I had to cross to get to the station, I didn't cross it, right away. I kind of just stood there by the curb, watching the nine o'clock traffic puff by. I must've stood through two red lights before finally finding it in me to cross…only to get chased back onto the curb by these crazy thugs speeding through the damn red light on their bikes, howling like animals. What a thing to do at nine in the morning! Hadn't they gotten their fill of partying the night before?

That kind of stuff didn't happen half as much when Kira had been running amok.

I wound up practically clinging to the pole for dear life and waiting through two more red lights before I judged it to be safe to cross. Once a weenie, always a weenie. Didn't even bother to curse at those guys; it wouldn't have done me any good, anyhow.

Somehow, I managed to make it to the lunch hour, but I didn't leave to eat anywhere. Instead, I dropped in on Christine, a veteran of the station who I'd been working with, just to see what she was up to. I didn't really know what I wanted to say to her, but I felt so lonesome. I would've done just about anything to make the feeling go away.

Twinkie in my hand, I found her at her desk, typing feverishly at her computer. A piddly, soggy box of Caesar salad of the fast food variety sat all but forgotten by the keyboard, by a picture of her fiancé with a rosary draped over the frame.

Looking at her fiancé made me ponder for a moment what could've been for Light and Misa. She was always mentioning plans for a future of matrimonial bliss that I hadn't actually seen her discuss with Light but once. Had world domination as god and goddess been in those blueprints all along? Or did she really just want to settle down to a good life, only to have her wishes taken advantage of to the farthest Light could take them?

Light, you had Misa's heart. And she'd have probably given you both her kidneys, lungs and liver, if she thought you needed them. She stuck up for you until the end. But you...didn't you love her at all?

If things had just been different...

When I noticed her rosary, though, my mind switched to the subject of religion. For some reason, I started wondering what life in a convent would be like. Sounded quiet, peaceful. Escapist.

Without really thinking about it, the old gums started flapping. "Chris? Hey, Chris."

Christine paused in mid-type, her fingers hovering precariously over the letters. She glanced over her shoulder to glare at me like I'd just given her a wicked pinch or something. "What?" She didn't sound too happy to see me.

"Yo Chris, you're Catholic, aren't you?" In a world where everyone is looking to Kira for salvation, knowing a Catholic is respite.

"Yeah. So?"

"What's the deal in joining a convent? I think I wanna go join one. Do I have to be Catholic or something?"

With the way she looked at me, I was afraid that she'd spit in my eye. "What kind of asinine question is that? Of course you have to be Catholic." Christine turned back to the computer screen and sat still for a while. "Ugh, great, now I've lost my train of thought. I'll be in dire straits if this damn thing's not done by tomorrow. I can't believe you pulled me away from my story just to ask me something like that."

Her snappy reply made me shrink back in defense. My almost-wish to join a convent dissipated almost as quickly as it'd come up. "Oh, take a chillax pill. I dunno if I'd do it, anyway. With my luck, I'd probably get into a convent with all the wrong kinds of nuns. Like the fanatical types. Or just the plain mean types who're grouchy all the time because they can't get any. Those robes don't look too comfortable, either, now that I'm thinking about it…how would it feel to wear that in the middle of August?"

"Fox and the sour grapes. You know, I don't appreciate you making cracks like that about my religion. If there's anything holding you back in this business, it'd have to be that bigoted attitude of yours. Not to say that it's the only thing…"

I gave her this really stupid look. I can't say I appreciated that label, "bigot," no matter how true it might've been. "I'm a bigot, huh? Hmm…well, did you ever think that maybe you're kind of a bigot, too? Because you don't like bigots like me?"

Christine rolled her eyes. "Grow up. I've almost got the nerve to report you."

"Hey, hey, there's no need for that, is there? I didn't mean anything by it." I was telling the truth. Lately, I'd had no idea what the hell I was talking about, half the time. Or thinking about. It felt like my brain had sprung a leak; I'd have to carry a bucket around, at this rate, just to keep it all together. Boy, did I feel like an ijit.

Funny, how she mentioned "growing up." I was nineteen when I studied in Japan, I'm twenty now, and I'll still act like a sixteen-year-old who acts like she's twelve. Certain people I knew were even older than that, but acted like they were six. It's pointless to tell someone to act their age. Nobody can. Or they won't.

Just what is age, anyway? How long you've been alive? How much does it matter beyond that?

I decided to break the tension-filled silence again. I didn't like it. I just felt so damn lonesome and all. Just staring at her salad made me feel so sorry for her. How could she expect to work on that? "A piddly salad, a lunch does not make."

I dropped the Twinkie on her desk, where she couldn't miss it. "Here. You could use the sugar boost."

Christine's eyes continued to burn holes into the screen. "No, thanks. I'm trying to watch my weight."

"If you burn off the calories by thinking a lot, you won't gain a lot of weight."

That got her attention, again. "Thinking? What does it look like I'm trying to do? Why don't you listen to your own advice before you open your mouth?" Oh man, the hairy eyeball.

I did follow my own advice: all I had to do was remember how it wasn't really mine. Once I started thinking about whose advice it really was, I suddenly couldn't even put the Twinkie in my mouth. My appetite was gone.

You've had a more profound effect on me than I can describe, L.

"…Sorry."

It would've been a horrible waste to just throw the treat away, though, so I left it in the corner of Christine's desk, in case she changed her mind. People on diets always change their mind at some point. If they have souls.

"Didn't mean to hold you up."

…

"I'll see you later, then. I guess. Best of luck on your story."

I started walking away with my tail between my legs. I didn't know where I was going, or even why I felt like whimpering. Lately, everything had made me want to whimper. I shut my eyes and swallowed it down.

Christine started to call me back. "Erin? Come on, kiddo. Hey." She even got out of her seat just to tail after me and put a hand on my shoulder. I only looked far enough behind me to see her engagement ring on her finger. Quite a rock her man got her, I had to admit.

Christine sighed, "Look, I'm sorry, but I've got a really important deadline to meet and I can't afford any more distractions. Surely you can appreciate that. You should work on that, too; you can't get all shrinking violet every time someone cuts you an attitude." She had her days like this one, but now and then, she would offer me some decent advice. Suddenly, I felt lousy for bugging her, in the first place.

I smiled back at her as I wiped my nose on my index finger. It hurt to smile, like the muscles in my face were ready to snap. Who was weepy? Not me. "Who's a shrinking violet, Chris? You obviously want me to leave, so that's what I'm doing."

"Are you okay?" she asked, mostly because you're obligated to ask someone that if they're not acting quite like themselves.

I shrugged, turned back around to face the exit into the hallway. If I was going to have to lie to her, I wouldn't look directly at her. Like you liked to do, L. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. You just get on back to work, Chris. I won't bug you anymore."

Not too long after I'd gotten out of there, I'd decided to head down to the bathroom to get in some frustration-induced crying time. Maybe get a drink to get rid of the copper taste in my mouth. Whatever would help me scrape through the day. On the way, I overheard two of my fellow interns, Kim and Dawn, arguing by the water dispenser. Over the last topic I wanted to hear.

"He hasn't been caught, yet," said Kim. "He can't be caught."

"Haven't you noticed that he hasn't judged any criminals in almost a year?" Dawn shot back. "Either he's dead or L finally busted him. Like he should have."

"Well, I find it strange that the police haven't announced that they've caught him. They withdrew from the case, after all, that's the word. And rightfully so. The world needs someone like Kira. We don't need L or the police."

"You talk about him like he's some kind of god," Dawn sneered.

"Well, he is to a lot of people. He is to me."

I think I'monna hurl… 

My nausea intensified when Kim noticed me passing by—cool as a cucumber, or something to that effect—and called, "Erin! Be the tie-breaker for us, will you?" They were asking me of all people to be tie-breaker? What a hot one.

"Yeah, you were studying in Japan when Kira emerged. What do you think?"

I'm gonna hurl I'm gonna hurl I'm gonna hurl—

"What do I think?" I asked lamely. "About what?" I was just stalling.

"About Kira, of course. What else?"

I have to be honest; as soon as I'd gotten dragged in, I felt like going on a tirade. I wanted to call old Kim and Dawn goddamn idiots just like the people they supported.

Kira and L are the two stupidest kids history will ever know.

By this point, I've come to accept the letter L as a word as well as a letter. No, not even a word. A name. A person. A kid. Just a stupid kid, no matter how high his I.Q. Like Light. And Misa.

Just kids. Like me.

I didn't answer. I just hightailed it for the bathroom—running thinly disguised as a power-walk—with this replaying over and over in my mind. I didn't bother to stick around to see their reactions. They weren't there. They wouldn't know.

I didn't waste any time in choosing the first vacant stall I could see and slamming the door behind me. Once I locked it I plopped down on the toilet lid and clawed at the paper roll so I could bury my face in the thin absorbency of cheap toilet paper. I don't know how long I sat there like that, but when I finally looked up from the wad in my hands, I saw something that just about killed me dead.

Somebody had written "Kira kill them all" on the back of the stall door. Right in front of me at the same height as my eyes were, for God's sake. I would've tried to wipe it away with a good old spit-shine, except that whoever had written it had carved it right into the goddamn surface, with a nail file or something.

Look, I'm all for freedom of expression and all, but come on, why carve something like that into a bathroom stall, right in front of people who go to the bathroom for sanctuary from things like that?

Nowhere is sanctuary. 

Before long, I'd stormed out of there, the door banging behind me as I careened towards the sinks. I felt like I was drowning, my gasps magnified by the vast emptiness of the bathroom.

I caught my reflection in the mirror as I fumbled for the faucet to turn on the water, hoping to drown out the silence that threatened to swallow me whole. Not so much a reflection of my face as I saw a reflection of the past. Everything. Just, everything. Like I were reliving all of the memories all at once inside that fucking mirror. I could see it etched in the faint circles under my eyes.

They weren't nearly as bad as yours, though, L. I'd only been like this for a couple of months. You were fucked up your whole life, weren't you? Yours were less eye bags than testimonial rings, like the ones you'd find in an old tree stump. For years of more horror and turmoil, inner and outer, than I can imagine anyone to have to go through—or maybe I just don't want to. 

Just like that, a fist flew in from somewhere, and the world as it stood before my eyes, real and imagined, shattered into a gaping hole, into at least a hundred shards full of memories scattered around the floor and all over the sink. Splashed with shiny red stuff. Looked like blood.

It didn't register to me right away that the glass-pierced hand in front of my face was mine, or that I'd just busted a bathroom mirror with it. Only that it hurt for some reason, like all hell. Almost to the point where it was just a bleeding piece of meat and bone with glass lodged in it here and there. I watched it drip warm life-liquid for a minute or two, as warm as the tears that streamed down my cheeks against my will.

Then I turned my gaze up towards the fluorescent lights above me. My eyes were shriveling into prunes right in their sockets, the water keeping them full and functional dribbling off my chin like battery acid.

Damn it. Now look what you made me do. I broke your face, and you broke my hand. An eye for an eye. Remember that?

…

I know. 

I have nothing more to say for myself...except that I'm sorry.

Was I hearing voices, now? Well, I've kind of always heard voices in my head, but I never thought that much about it. At least the voices had been mine.

His voice played in my head like an old scratchy tape recording distorted by time and regret, all that he'd left me with. All that I'd left him with. He sounded…sadder than he had when he'd said that when he was alive. If that was remotely possible.

…you still have so much time ahead of you. Please, make the most out of it when you leave here. Okay?

I believe in you. 

I started trying to pull the glass out of my hand. But it seemed as if I'd lost function in my other hand, too. Like I had no control over either. They trembled in front of me, the most movement either of them could still make. That I could still make. The familiar stench of blood wafting around me, of tears and death and agony and hopelessness and all the things I smelled when Light died, made me want to puke so so badly. I wonder why I didn't.

That familiar wrenching feeling in my chest returned, fixing me in place. L...my heart...was this the last thing you and Light felt when you...

That's when I thought I heard someone curse. I didn't look at them, though. For a second there, I almost didn't even know where I was.

Christine caught me red-handed. No pun intended.

…

I messed up my hand pretty bad. Oh, I can still use it, it's just clumsier and weaker than it used to be. Can't make a good fist with it. But better to have that instead of a lousy robot hand or something. Or no hand at all.

I guess I'm a labeled crazy, now. It's not as fun as some people might think it is. That probably means that I won't get a job anywhere in the near future. I mean, who wants someone who punches out the bathroom mirror over some stall graffiti?

…Should I worry about the seven years of bad luck I've probably got now from breaking the mirror, too?

Nah. Compared to everything else, seven years of bad luck sounds like a cake walk.

Is it safe to say I've hit rock-bottom?

Maybe I should call myself lucky, in a very vague way. I may have hit rock-bottom, but at least I've met some kind of bottom so I can still climb back up. When you're down, there's nowhere else to go but up. And I've got family to help me every step of the way. The two of them, L, Light, they just kept falling, falling, falling together and yet at the same time falling apart into that big, dark empty space where none of us could reach them no matter what we'd do...

Come to think of it, what's "luck," anyway? Is there really such a thing as "good" or "bad" luck, or is it just the randomness of how we touch each other's lives, and drive our own, through the choices we make?

I'd rather not go into any more detail on afterwards except for that's pretty much how I ended up here, in the nutbarn. I hadn't even told them anything, and they still sent me to the nutbarn. Exactly where Farley and company said I would end up, one day, though harmless teasing.

Could be worse. I could be in prison. Or dead.

…

No, no, no. I'm still making it sound worse than it is. I'm not some goddamn sensationalist, and I'm not going to start now. For one, I don't live there. I'm not crazy enough to have to live there. I just visit. Since that stunt I'd pulled in the bathroom, I haven't done anything like that since. And I don't intend to. I hadn't really even meant to break the mirror like that, honest, I hadn't. It was a really dumb thing to do, I can't even tell you.

It just…happened. I keep telling people that, but they can't believe it, for some reason. Like they've never done something strictly on impulse.

For another, I'm not even sure if it's right to call the place a "nutbarn." The people who come here, they really aren't that bad. No one's in a straitjacket or cackling maniacally, from what I've seen so far, at least. I've struck up a few conversations with some of them, actually. They're just lost and broken, mostly, some of them probably more so than others, but all of them trying to find the glue, never mind how to stick the pieces back together.

(When you've seen crazy, heard crazy, immersed yourself in it, there's no turning back. The world suddenly becomes broader, the people within it more equal. After all, if there's one thing we've all got in common, it's crazy.)

The first day I was there, I spent pretty much my whole time in the waiting room reading the looks on everyone's faces more than I was reading the old magazine in my lap, feeling sorry for all of them. I kept wondering what would happen to all of them. Where would they all go?

They're all going to die, someday. We're all going to die, someday: even I'm gonna, eventually. Doesn't matter if you're good or bad, meek or powerful, smart or stupid. We're all people and we're all headed for the same place…wherever that may be. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, next week, next year, or even the next decade, but someday...

Hm. What a world. But if this is the only world we've got...

It made me think about what the others could be up to, at this point. For some reason, looking at these people made me think about Misa. Was she in a waiting room like I was, right while I thought about her, wondering how the hell she'd gotten there, wishing she was somewhere else?

The doctor I'm seeing now introduced himself as Rod Johnson: a name as Freudian as they come. But, he is a psychiatrist. And he's a swell guy, for the most part. For a shrink. Not that I felt too comfortable with him, at first. I didn't want to be here, at all.

"Elin Crocker," I introduced myself as. Where did that come from?

"Pardon?"

"Uh, I-I mean, Erin Blogger! Sorry. Brain fart. I'm just getting off the—my meds."

I didn't open up to him, right away, naturally. We just sat across from each other, not saying a word for God knows how long. I was slumped over in my chair, staring at my feet with my hands resting on my knees, clasped in a sort of prayer. I was vaguely wondering if I could get out of this office if I clicked my heels together and said, "There's no place like home." I knew it wouldn't work, but I wondered, anyway. I just felt trapped.

"You seem quiet today, Erin," Dr. Johnson finally broke the silence. Keen observation.

"Huh? Oh. I guess that's just…'cause I don't know what to say. I don't really belong here."

Dr. Johnson leaned in from his seat, interested as hell. "What makes you say that?"

My eyes stayed trained on my feet. "I don't have a problem. Right now, there are people waiting outside this door, with real problems. I shouldn't even be here. And even if I did, they've got pills for everything, don't they?"

...

Crap, I shouldn't have said that. Now he probably thought I had a drug problem. Then again, what if I did? I haven't been able to sleep lately without popping a couple at night.

"Hm? You believe you don't have a problem."

This doctor act started to annoy me. He was no L, but he annoyed me, anyway. Like he was trying to coax me into singing. Interrogating me through the "good cop, bad cop" act, minus the "bad cop" part.

The truth is something we're all taking to our graves. 

…

Fuck. I'm not getting there fast enough. 

I hate that. I hate that, I hate that. I hate being morbid. Those six months have exposed me to more morbidity than most people may see in their whole lifetime. When it comes down to it, I don't want to die. After everything that I've seen? Never. I'm still a coward, in that sense. Once a weenie, always a weenie.

...

Then again, Light didn't want to die. L didn't really want to, either, or so I can only hope. And they were two of the boldest most courageous guys I've ever met. No one wants to die, really. Doesn't matter if they have to eventually.

I just didn't know how much more of this I could take: going around day in and day out all fucked up, afraid of people asking why because I could never answer that. Not truthfully.

I shrugged. "I was sort of…forced to go here. Over this thing I did over at the news station."

"What happened?"

I didn't want to tell him. I didn't want him to think I was some kind of psycho who got off breaking things because I'm not. Never have been, never will be.

…Oh, who was I kidding? The fact that I was stuck in this office at all implied that I had something wrong with me. I was cornered, like a little girl running for her life down a dark alley only to find a brick wall at the end. It had all caught up to me. Maybe it always had.

I could barely peel my eyes off of my feet. My chest tightened a little more with every hesitant word as my lips smacked at the faint taste of copper in my drying mouth. "I…I broke my hand. I may have punched out a mirror in the women's room and wound up jacking up my hand, too. That's what I'm taking the meds for. Torn ligaments, or something."

I paused to stroke the knuckles on said hand, to have it twitch in distrust. Given what I'd put it through, how could I blame it?

Then I hastily insisted, "Don't waste your breath telling me that that was a dumb thing to do, Doc. I already know. Pretty well. I don't plan to do something like that again, either."

…

"The news station has pretty cheap mirrors if somebody like me could go break one." I don't know where that came from. But I had thought about that. I'd been thinking about a lot of things.

Dr. Johnson's smile grew more thoughtful with every bit of my brain that I offered. "I'm not here to judge you, Erin. Though I am curious about how that came about. Did something happen that made you want to do it?"

I could almost feel a tiny red sniper light aiming at my forehead as my gaze switched from my feet to Dr. Johnson's loafers. "N-not really. I did it because I felt like it."

"You did it because you felt like it?"

I nodded, stopping to swallowing down the lump crawling up my throat before I could respond with words. "I know I shouldn't have done it, but that's what happened."

"How did you feel when you broke the mirror?"

"I don't know. N-not good, I guess." I started to fidget. Which really sucked, because once I started fidgeting, nothing could stop it. For a moment there, I wished I could shrink into my shoes, just disappear. "Who goes around breaking things when they feel on top of the world? Unless you're, uh, a really self-entitled rock star or something. Then they call it art."

Dr. Johnson stifled a laugh. After taking a second to compose himself, he asked, "Were you angry about something?"

He's onto me! Retreat! Retreat! 

…

No. You can't run from this, anymore. You tried to run, look where it's gotten you. Tell him something; just don't tell him everything. Just the parts he'd believe. 

That's when something happened. A flashback. I saw us—Misa, Light, Matsuda, L and me—sitting around in a huge closet. Misa's closet. It'd been raining oceans, that particular day, and to kill the boredom, Misa had proposed that we play Seven Minutes in Heaven. Matsuda, being her manager at the time, provided the spinner to pick who the lucky lovers were going to be.

It picked L and me. Though I distinctly recall seeing Misa blow on the arrow so that it would point to me since originally, it'd pointed to her. Naturally, L and Light were still handcuffed together, so if L was going to go in any closet, Light would be going with him.

So Misa climbed in, too, so she could keep Light in her sights.

Then Matsuda stepped in because he felt lonely.

So Heaven turned out to be the five of us sitting around in a dark closet stuffed with expensive designer jackets for seven solid minutes, doing nothing. We talked, I guess, but I don't really remember off the top of my head what we talked about. Something about religion, I think? At any rate, Misa was put into a foul mood for a good chunk of the day after that.

But looking back now, I realize that in a screwy way, that really was Heaven, us just being together and all, even with all of the Hell we put each other in along the way...and simultaneously pulled each other out of. And even though it still hurts like hell, how it all ended, where we've ended up, what we had between us—that crazy sitcom-brand bond forged by the greatest manhunt known to civilization—was special. And real. With or without the Death Note. With or without Kira.

I believe it was real. I can't stand the idea of otherwise. I refuse to.

When I drifted back to reality, I noticed Dr. Johnson offering me a box of tissues. "Are you all right, Erin?"

I reached up to gingerly brush my cheek, to find it warm, and moist. Why did this scene seem so familiar to me?

For a while, I just shut my eyes and concentrated on breathing. Just breathing. You can't talk if you can't breathe.

"Oh. I was just…thinking about some friends of mine, from when I was studying abroad in Japan."

"In Japan? That sounds exciting," Dr. Johnson said warmly.

My reply to that left me with the vague feeling of being naked where I wasn't supposed to be. My knuckles pressed over my chest to squeeze out the dull throbbing underneath them. "Yeah. It was…until Kira came and tore us all apart."

…

Once upon a time, back when I was studying in Japan, I made a few good friends. We were tight, until two of them, Light Yagami and Hideki Ryuga (no relation to the celebrity), wound up dead. Light by an accident, Ryuga by suicide not long after. Turned out they were involved in a police investigation against Kira. They had defied him, so he struck them down at the first chance he got. Or so I'd sometimes speculate but know I could never prove or disprove.

My resentment towards Kira led to a resentment towards L, too. He'd let me down in failing to protect them. I've wondered if he had cared enough to make the effort. Eventually I'd even started to hate Light and Ryuga just for getting involved in the case. For offering themselves as fodder for the two of them. And of course, I've hated myself for feeling that way, helpless and all, you're not supposed to hate the dead.

I just hadn't said anything up until this point because there isn't anything anyone can do about it now. Why bother talking about it? It'd only be spitting in the wind, wouldn't it?

This is the story I wound up telling them. If I could compare the truth to a meal, I dished out everything but the meat and potatoes. Just the dessert. It satiates them, but there isn't much of anything to it.

...

Then again, it's not really a lie, now that I'm thinking about it. Not entirely. Maybe not so much a lie as a half-truth, a quarter-truth, at least. Light was just as much of a victim to the Kira in his soul as we all were; he sold his humanity to him just to do the impossible. L wrote his own name in the notebook because he'd wanted to win against Kira.

Maybe that's what drew me to you? You, Light and Misa? You had the stones to stand up for what you believed in at any cost, something I've always wished I had for myself. It doesn't matter if I didn't like what you stood for, or what Light stood for. Actually, maybe it doesn't matter if those things you stand up for are even right. Maybe a little, but not completely.

The fact that you stand up for something at all is worth admiration, isn't it? Or the fact that your determination compels other people to do something big themselves?

So I guess in your own twisted, demented ways, you guys were still heroes. You are still heroes.

...I wonder what did you see in me that was enough for you to call me a "good person?"

I've been in counseling for a while, now; that's where I got the the idea of keeping a journal. I had to open every vein in my body to do it. I just needed to put all this into perspective, or at least try to.

But now that someone's read it, I can't keep it anymore. I've gotta destroy the evidence before Farley thinks about showing it to anyone else, even with the pinky-swear we'd made. He tends to forget those things, bless his heart. Especially since it's just a stupid story to him.

Besides, I can't keep holding on to the past. There's nothing we can do to change it, and we can't change the way of the world. I've been thinking a lot about that, too. A lot of people, people like Misa and Light, think that they have to do things like kill people because they want the world to be better and can't find another way to make it happen. Like how some might lash out at society in anger or turn to crime just to keep a roof over their heads. But evil will always exist, at the end of the day, as long as good exists, and vise versa. "Two sides of the same coin" type of deal. In fact, at the risk of sounding any more maniacal than I already must sound, I'm starting to take a little comfort in the presence of evil. It lets me know that the same amount of good must also exist somewhere, even if I have to go dig for it. I truly believe in it.

You taught me that, L. You and Light and Misa. Even Higuchi might've been an all-right guy at one point before he'd tasted power. I only wish that Light had been wise enough to see that for himself. Power and despair make a fatal cocktail; when you're hooked, all you can think about is how to get more, even if it kills you.

I may never know the full extent of how much you really liked me, but the fact remains that, in spite of everything, you were the first one—and hopefully, not the last—to demonstrate any genuine belief in me (even if that was just because you were crazier than I am). Never mind that you were the world's greatest detective. Going by what little I know about you, you probably didn't believe in many things.

Why should I be the one to let you down? Two wrongs never made a right, after all. Guess who taught me that one?

A good deed is kind of like a good story: you'll ruin it if you just talk about it, especially if nobody would believe you, anyway. It must be shown. It's over for you and Light, it's been over for awhile. But things have just gotten started for the rest of us.

We'll tell the story by picking up where you two left off.

I want to affect someone, in a good way. Then maybe they might do the same for someone else, and then they'll affect someone, and so on, and so on. It might not stop people from doing evil, but at least they might become a little less inclined to do it. Give them hope. Maybe then, the world will genuinely be better someday, just a little? This is how I'll thank you, honor you, forgive you, and maybe forgive myself, too…

Is this what you meant when you told me to make the most of my time?

…Huh. I'm getting kind of ahead of myself, aren't I? I don't even know how I'm going to do that, yet, only that that's what I want to do.

But I'll never figure anything out unless I do this, first.

That's why I'm out here on the rooftop in the middle of the night, long after everyone else has turned in, overlooking the city. Could just be my star-craving, but the city at night has never looked more beautiful, the lights in the distance like sequins on a black silk dress: crystallizations of all the hopes and dreams we all have, no matter how dark the world around us gets.

We're all underneath the same sky, right now, aren't we? We're all looking at it. Putting it that way, maybe we're not that far apart, after all?

In front of me, I set up a tin box, a washcloth, a water bottle, a lighter, and my notebook. I'm not up here to forget. I don't think I can forget. That's the thing about people like you and Light: once you meet them, you can never forget them. And like that shinigami Ryuk said, burning this notebook won't change anything.

What I can do, what I should do, what I want to do, is forgive. 

I'm not sure how much this is going to help me do that. But I've gotta start somewhere. Life's too short for grudges. And besides, I would want to be forgiven, too. Doesn't everyone?

I pull my finger out of my mouth to check the breeze. Conditions are right. Better do this before things shift in the way they always do.

My pulse quickens as I lift up the notebook in one shaking hand, and flick the lighter to life in another. One brush of the lighter's tongue against the corner of the notebook, and it's ablaze in a gasp. I quickly toss the book into the tin box before the flames can brush my fingers, then sit back to listen to it crackle. To watch the dog-eared pages melt away into ash underneath the billowing veil of orange and yellow. Taking with it all the fear, the sorrow, the anger that I'd been carrying with me for so long and lifting it up with wispy tendril arms to cast into the emptiness, the nothingness, of the night air.

Soaking the washcloth, I hang my head and fold it over my nose and mouth in a kind of prayer as my eyes begin to string and burn, and not just from the smoke. The heat makes me feel woozy. But not so much a bad kind of woozy; more like the kind of woozy that you might feel when a weight is sliding off your shoulders, or when your feet touch the ground after spending too much time on your head. Release.

I hope that you've, if nothing else, felt something at least remotely like this before you left us, L. You and everyone in our band.

Misa, Matsuda, Mr. Yagami, everyone. We'll get through this. Somehow. Even if we're not together physically, we'll pull through together. Maybe we'll meet again soon—who knows? Life is always throwing insane plot twists our way.

Good-bye to the ones who've left us behind: Light, Wata—Quillish, Rem, even Higuchi and the rest of the Group. And to all of the victims. You can rest easy, wherever you are, right now.

When I deem the story burned beyond recognition, I douse it with the rest of the water in the bottle. The flames settle into dim embers at the bottom of the box in piercing hisses of protest before fading, exhausted, into the night, reminding me of someone I used to know, to whom I owe a good-bye too long overdue.

Good-bye, Ryuga. Good-bye, Ryuzaki. Good-bye, Coil and Deneuve. Good-bye, L. 

Good-bye, L Lawliet. 

It's strange. In my head, it sounds like I'm saying good-bye to six different people, possibly a thousand other strangers, at that, when I'm really saying it all to the same person. You were always backwards like that.

I'm sorry that I never said so before I left, but…thank you, for everything. I love you. Rest in peace. You need it.

I close my eyes. The washcloth starts to smell musky, and distinctly salty. From tears, no less. And yet, I can't help but smile behind it.

I can't explain why or how exactly, because I'm all alone up here. I made sure of that. But it almost feels like someone is listening. I don't know who. Just someone.


	29. Hope

"A man can die, and yet not only live in others, but give them life…"

-Jack Kerouac

…

January 28

3:18 a.m.

Erin, is this you? How are you? Gosh, how long has it been? I'm so happy to have found you again! I've really missed you! And what a place to find you, too, haha! Isn't Facebook™ awesome! 

By the way, digging your profile pic! America always seems beautiful to me, no matter how many pictures I see of it. Great shot of the Statue of Liberty. 

I'd been about to reply to a friend of mine from the local shelter when I found this in my inbox. I have more of a love-hate relationship with Facebook™, myself, but I can't exactly argue that point. If it can help you find old friends you thought you'd lost to time and distance, then how can it not be awesome?

Not a lot of people use the network, these days. And most of the folks who do won't post pictures of themselves. The two of us are part of a scant few who aren't still afraid to share our names and faces, anymore.

Do you think there's any way we can meet each other again soon? I'm getting time off from work. Chatting online is great, but I'd really like to catch up with you face-to-face. Is that okay? Or is it too sudden? 

By that point, I didn't really have to read the kanji signed at the bottom of the message to figure out who this was. In a way, maybe I shouldn't have; looking almost had me tumbling right out of my chair.

Matsu, you always were unpredictable. We all were, to varying degrees. It was just one of those things that drew and kept us together. For all I know, we still are.

The jolt was enough to scare the tiny, warm black mass of fur out of my lap and under the desk. It doesn't take a lot to make Lawliet run and hide under things, and he's always had this fondness for darkness over bright places anyhow, hence the joke that I didn't bring home a kitten to join the clan; "I adopted a shadow."

Can't argue with that, either. In a way, I really have brought home a shadow.

His name had come to me in a dream, and weird as it was, I sort of liked it. It sounded like a great, oddball cat name, a hell of a lot better than Fluffy or Mittens, at least. And it sure suits him: he likes to lie low in dim-lit places, the poor scrawny little creeper.

That's what I told Farley and the people at the shelter when we got him at Christmastime, at least. When he'd asked me about the spelling, I'd told him that "it'll confuse people." That got me some eye-rolling, but he let it drop. He wasn't the one signing the papers. And anyway, I'm crazy. You can't figure out crazy, unless you're willing to go crazy yourself.

I don't know how long it took me to sit there, frozen in space, and try to gather my thoughts. When I came back to earth, I noticed that my face was wet, and salty. I stopped to wipe my eyes dry before I could come up with a reply. Either Matsuda hadn't changed that much in the rough two years since we all went our separate ways, or he had changed almost as much as I had, maybe more, but technology and all the emoticons it offered could never make that apparent. Not even Facebook™. I figured that from the bit about his asking to see me.

I wondered how the others have changed. Would it be safe to ask here over the Internet?

My hand twitched with a vague mix of apprehension and ineffable joy, as the keys underneath my fingertips became moist and slippery with tears as I tried to formulate my reply:

Matsu! You almost gave me a 

No.

I was going to tell him that he'd almost given me a heart attack. But that would've been...just, no, even if it was true. When you've spent pretty much your whole life with your foot in your mouth, you don't recover from that overnight. You don't recover from anything overnight.

Backspace.

…

Nothing I could type onto this screen could begin to express how I felt, right now. Some things, you can only discuss face-to-face. Some things, you should only discuss face-to-face. For now, I'd just have to make the most of it.

Matsu! Is this who I think it is? How have YOU been? How's everyone over there? Thank you; my brother took the shot so I could pose with Liberty. Drove him nuts. 

Don't worry about being sudden; I've missed you, too. Maybe more. I'd love to see you again, Matsu, more than anything. You and all of our friends…


End file.
